


Winter's End

by Calenheniel



Category: Frozen (2013)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Disney, Drama, F/M, Hansla, High Seas, Iceburns, Kidnapping, Romance, Southern Isles, helsa
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-21
Updated: 2014-07-17
Packaged: 2018-01-16 09:24:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 85,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1342102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Calenheniel/pseuds/Calenheniel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>[Hans x Elsa] A year has passed since she lifted the curse of eternal winter, but Elsa—still feeling that some matters have been left unresolved—decides to finally pay a diplomatic visit to the Southern Isles. Notorious for its powerful Queen and its large brood of princes, she knows she is running headlong into trouble. But when Elsa decides to allow Hans to return from exile during her visit to prove her mettle, she soon realizes that she may have bitten off more than she can chew …</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue: The Letter

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first big attempt at a non-AU, epic adventure on the scale of the original film (with, of course, some Iceburns flavouring), and I apologize if the summary makes it seem lame, because I promise it isn't! The prologue is short, but Chapter 1 is soon to follow. For any and all story notes, FAQ, and (perhaps) fanart related to this fic in the future, please go to my blog: http://calenheniel.tumblr.com/tagged/WintersEndFrozen. 
> 
> I hope you all enjoy it!

# Prologue: The Letter

.

.

.

**To Her Royal Majesty, Queen Elsa of the Kingdom of Arendelle:**

Their Royal Majesties King Oskar and Queen Therese of the Southern Isles would again like to extend their deepest apologies for the incident earlier this year involving the traitor, formerly Prince Hans. As the Queen has previously been informed, the traitor has now been formally stripped of his titles, lands, and his inheritance by the King and Queen as punishment for his crimes. Furthermore, as requested by Her Majesty Queen Elsa, the traitor remains in exile on Vollan Island far to the South, where he endures hard labour daily under the watch of Her Royal Majesty Queen Therese's own relations.

Given the efforts undertaken by Their Royal Majesties to amend the ties between the great nations of Arendelle and the Southern Isles, they would be honoured if Her Majesty Queen Elsa were to grace the court of the Isles by the end of the year with her magnanimous presence. The King and Queen are prepared to spare no expense in the festivities celebrating Her Majesty's potential visit, and hope that together, our two kingdoms can finally reunite happily and peacefully.

However, given the very recent nature of the unfortunate events involving the traitor, formerly Prince Hans, Their Royal Majesties fully understand if Queen Elsa does not wish to pursue their offer at this time, but thank her nonetheless for her kind and thoughtful consideration of this letter.

Yours sincerely,

_King Oskar and Queen Therese of the Southern Isles_

.

.

.


	2. Chapter 1: The Decision

# Chapter 1: The Decision

Elsa read the letter for what seemed like the thousandth time.

_To Her Royal Majesty, Queen Elsa of the Kingdom of Arende—_

Her hand crumpled the right side of it as it balled into a fist; she looked surprised a moment later, not realising she had done so, and her fingers relaxed again.

_As the Queen has previously been informed, the traitor has now been formally stripped of his title, lands—_

She stood up in agitation from her desk, staring down at the paper accusingly as the words endlessly,  _viciously_  cycled themselves through her mind.

— _remains in exile on Vollan Island far to the South, where he endures hard labour daily under the watch of—_

Her lips curled into a frown.

— _they would be honoured if Her Majesty, Queen Elsa, were to grace the court of the Isles by the end of the year—_

She noticed, then, that the paper was, in fact, yellowing—and that nearly every corner of it had been creased at some point or another since it had come into her possession some two weeks earlier.

 _Have I read it_ that  _many times?_

Her nose wrinkled at the thought in distaste, and she finally put some distance between herself and the document, walking away towards her armoire. She tried to distract herself by rummaging through it, looking for something to wear for the day; she even withdrew something resembling a presentable gown before promptly throwing it to the wayside with a particularly strong flick of her wrist.

_The King and Queen are prepared to spare no expense in the festivities celebrating Her Majesty's potential visit, and hope that together, our two kingdoms—_

She scowled suddenly.

 **Our**   _two kingdoms?_

She flung another dress to the side, forgetting—or perhaps not caring—that it had just been washed the day before.

_However, given the very recent nature of the unfortunate events involving the traitor, formerly Prince Ha—_

She felt ice creeping up her arm, but she stopped it a moment later with the memory of Anna stuffing her mouth full of the  _extremely_ expensive truffles that were  _supposed_ to have been served, as a delicacy, to the visiting dignitaries at court a month ago. Normally, the image of her sister's plump, guilty cheeks would have made her laugh, or at least smile.

_Their Royal Majesties fully understand if Her Majesty, Queen Elsa, does not wish to pursue their offer at this time, but thank her nonetheless—_

She ran a flustered hand through her white hair as she finally stopped herself from wrinkling another dress, and stood stock-still, breathing deeply.

 _What am I_ doing?

As if in answer to that silent question, a formal  _knock_ echoed against her bedroom door, making her jolt in surprise.

"Yes?" Elsa asked after taking a moment to collect herself, smoothing down her dressing gown in case someone should come in unexpectedly.

"It's just me, Your Majesty," Gerda's familiar voice answered, sounding as if she hadn't quite woken up yet that morning. "Shall I come in to help you get dressed?"

Her brows furrowed at the request, and she lightly pressed her hand to her forehead.

"No, Gerda, thank you—I think I'll manage on my own today."

Her lady-in-waiting sounded hesitant. "As—as you wish, Your Majesty," she said haltingly as she walked away again with the usual touch of disappointment in her tone that made Elsa feel guilty whenever she chose to dress herself.

 _She takes such pride in getting me ready,_ she thought with a small smile, and turned back from the door to the armoire with a softer stride. She was determined, this time, to actually  _pick_  something without getting side-tracked.

 _Now,_ she mused, her eyes fixed on the rack,  _what was on the agenda for today?_

She ran through a list of possible items for discussion with Kai and her Council—they were likely going to press her about when she was going to make her annual visit to Corona, the status of the (nonexistent) trade relations with Weselton now that the Duke had been deposed, and her replies to several marriage proposals that she had recently recei—

_Given the efforts undertaken by Their Royal Majesties to amend the ties between the great nations of Arendelle and the Southern Isles—_

She stomped her foot and slammed the doors of the armoire shut in frustration, muttering a curse under her breath as she stared accusingly at its wooden panels.

But after staring in this way for a while—and observing that the doors remained just as impassive and, well,  _wooden_ as ever—she finally sighed, defeated.

_This is going to take a while, isn't it?_

* * *

Elsa wasn't sure why—actually, the fact that she  _had_  made her more annoyed than ever—but she'd brought the letter with her to the Council meeting.

It was balled up tightly in the hand that normally would've been studiously writing down notes during the meeting regarding the advice of her Council on matters of state, and though she badly wanted to simply toss it to the side and pick up her quill, she somehow found the act  _impossible._

_I must be going crazy._

"Your Majesty?"

Her head snapped up to attention at the address, meeting Kai's concerned expression. She tried to keep from appearing as though she hadn't been listening to a word of the conversation, her hand—thankfully gloved—relaxing somewhat.

"Yes, ah, Prince Eugene," she started, her confidence building as she continued, "you said he would be stopping at port sometime soon?"

Kai's brow eased. "The messenger from Corona said within the month, but . . ." he trailed off and an amused smile overtook his features, soon infecting the other men and women around the table. "Well, I don't need to tell you, Your Majesty—the Prince very rarely arrives when he promises to."

Elsa smiled at this in spite of keenly feeling the crumpled letter through her glove.

"That's true," she agreed, "but no matter. We'll be sure to give him a fine greeting  _whenever_ he arrives." She paused in thought, and asked curiously: "Princess Rapunzel won't be joining him?"

Kai looked unsure. "The message did not indicate that she would, no," he replied, but added with another exasperated sort of smile: "But, knowing them—I would not be surprised if  _both_  of Their Majesties should arrive at port."

Elsa giggled a little. "No, I don't suppose I would be, either." She looked off to the side with a warm smile.

_I'm sure Anna would love it if Rapunzel came as well._

The two had become fast friends in the year since the castle gates had been opened, and Elsa herself had encouraged the relationship, knowing that—in spite of his loyalty and affection for her sister—Kristoff shouldn't be Anna's only other (human) friend.

In truth, she had taken an instant liking to the young princess of Corona as well; she guessed it was because Rapunzel reminded her so much of Anna.

 _They're both so . . ._ lively.

She hid a smirk at the thought, though her expression grew serious once more as she greeted the expectant looks of her advisers, clearing her throat.

"Leif—there was something you mentioned to me yesterday that you wished to discuss with the full Council?" she inquired.

The middle-aged, black-bearded man nodded sternly. "Yes, Your Majesty, and thank you for remembering," he nodded to her, and she returned the gesture. "It's about Weselton—they're requesting an audience now, since the Duke—"

"Ah, yes," she said, cutting him short. She ignored the somewhat discontented look he shot her at being interrupted. "Well, of course, we're all very pleased to receive the news of the Duke's deposal," she began, thinking silently  _and it's about time, too,_ "but there's no point in restarting trade with them while their government remains as unstable as it is."

Leif nodded along with the other Council members at this, though he seemed hesitant a moment later.

"Still, Your Majesty, should we not send some kind of word to the provisional government there to assure them that we support the direction in which they are headed?"

She weighed this idea in her mind, but only briefly; suddenly, she could feel the letter again, and her thoughts drifted.

— _the traitor has now been formally stripped of his title, lands, and his inheritance by the King and Queen as punishment for his crimes—_

She squeezed it too tightly, and it made an unfortunately loud  _scrunch_ noise which silenced all the quiet debate in the room. She swallowed as all the eyes around the table were once again trained on  _her._

"Per—perhaps we should wait a little while to make such a public statement," she said hesitantly, trying her hardest to maintain her composure. "But I would not be opposed to a private message of some kind relaying our support."

Murmurs of agreement concluded that topic, and Elsa nearly sighed in relief, her grip relaxing—but only slightly _._

"Is that everything, then?" she asked suddenly, standing from her seat. The other Council members followed her lead and bowed their heads, knowing that it didn't matter whether the meeting had gone on for only five minutes or more than three hours—when the Queen stood from her chair, it was as good as  _over_.

Kai nodded, though there was more than a drop of curious concern in his look as he spoke.

"Of course, Your Majesty," he answered faithfully. "The meeting is now adjourned."

These magic words allowed the Council members to disperse just as quickly as they had gathered in the hall, and Elsa was no different, leaving in a rush. Within a few minutes of the end of the discussion, she was back in her study, leaning tiredly on the chair by her writing desk.

"Your Majesty—what is that you're holding?"

Her skin went cold, and the temperature dropped in the room.

 _Of_ course  _Kai would notice._

She sucked in a breath as she gestured for him to fully enter the room, and when he was standing by her side, she finally—albeit somewhat  _reluctantly_ —handed him the letter. He gave her a questioning look upon seeing the state of the paper, and she averted her eyes from his guiltily.

He examined it with interest, and his eyes widened once he realised where it had come from. By the end, however, his expression had returned to its usual, composed mask, and he regarded her only with the slightest hint of doubt.

"Queen Elsa . . . this is the  _fourth_ missive from the Southern Isles, is it not?"

She reddened at the question, and nodded after a minute.

Kai glanced at the letter again. "And you—you've not replied to this one either, I take it?"

She looked confused at the query, her cheeks still pinked in embarrassment.

"What do you mean, Kai? I wouldn't answer the letter without consulting you and the Council first."

He hid a small smile. "Yes, of course, Your Majesty, but . . ." he gestured towards the countless wrinkles in the paper. "I suppose I just find it a bit odd, if it's been playing on your mind so much, that you wouldn't have come to us  _sooner_  about it."

Elsa's lips pursed stubbornly. "It hasn't been  _playing on my mind_ much at all," she tried to deny, frowning at Kai's sceptical look. "It's just—I just—oh, I don't  _know!"_ she admitted finally, throwing her hands up and resting her forehead on one of her palms. "I knew that  _you_ knew that I had it, but . . ." She stared at him curiously. "I suppose I was a little surprised that  _you_  didn't bring it up at the Council meeting yourself."

Kai smiled at this comment, and the affectionate expression took Elsa off-guard. "My Queen," he said, patting her hand gently, "I wouldn't raise such a sensitive issue unless I was  _certain_ that you were ready to discuss it." He looked at the paper again, and then back up at her knowingly. "Obviously, my instincts to wait were correct."

Elsa blushed at this, staring at the letter in his hand before looking away, a little ashamed.

"I guess I'm still . . . working things out, in a way," she confessed, and sighed. "At least, I was trying to figure out how I would tell my sister about it."

Kai nodded understandingly. "Of course, Your Majesty. I suspected as much." His look grew more serious after a moment. "Still, you must remember, my Queen—the Princess is no longer a child whom you have to protect from such things as basic diplomacy, even if they do involve particularly . . .  _unsavoury_ individuals from the recent past."

Elsa shot him a critical look as she crossed her arms.

"That's putting it  _mildly,_  Kai."

It was his turn to redden at the reproving remark. "Yes, of course, you are correct, Queen Elsa," he said quickly, embarrassed. "My apologies."

Seeing Kai so remorseful for what had been a simple understatement made Elsa sigh again, and she squeezed the older man's shoulder gently.

"Don't apologise," she said tiredly. "You should be able to speak your mind freely with me, after all." She glanced at the letter, but kept herself from frowning. "Anyway, I know you're right—whatever I choose to do, I can't be too swayed by Anna's feelings on the matter."

Elsa sat down in the chair again, stretching against its hard back, and Kai regarded her inquisitively.

"And what about you, my Queen?"

Her eyebrow rose in question. "What do you mean?"

He gestured to the letter with a troubled look. "Well, are you . . ." He paused.

"Have  _you_  made a decision about it yet?"

She bit her lip at the query; she had known it was going to come up at  _some_ point during their conversation.

"It was easy to ignore the first few letters," she said quietly, "back when it had only been a few months since the . . .  _incident."_  Her expression stiffened at the memory. "But now—now, it's somehow . . .  _harder_ to do so."

Kai smiled sadly. "That's only natural," he reassured her. "I know you're not a bitter person, Queen Elsa—in fact, my guess is that you'd like to move on just as much as they do."

She blushed at the pointed observation, not wanting to concede that point.

_He knows me too well—but then, I suppose that's why I appointed him a Council member in the first place._

He spoke again in her silence. "In any case, enhancing our economic ties with them would be  _extremely_ beneficial to Arendelle: all those wealthy landowners in the Isles rave about the quality of our fur and linen products here," he said, and continued: "And, as you know, that drink they make— _akvita—_ has become popular recently here at court, and thus establishing a secure passage for its transport from the Isles would be—"

"Yes, I'm aware," Elsa snapped suddenly, though upon seeing Kai's distressed look, she winced. "Sorry," she apologised promptly, massaging her temples. "It's just . . . I  _do_ realize the material benefits of this, Kai, really I do," she assured him, creating a few snowflakes in her hand to ease her tension before scuttling them away into the static air. "But it's not about them. It's about—it's about . . ."

She failed to finish the thought, and looked unsure.

"It's about your  _readiness_  for it all, isn't it?"

She nodded a little, pinking. He sighed at the expression, though it was not a sigh of weariness.

"That's perfectly understandable, Queen Elsa; actually, if you  _weren't_ having second, or third, or even  _fiftieth_ thoughts about going through with this, I'd be  _far_  more worried."

Elsa looked up at him in surprise, the remark bringing an unexpected smile to her pale lips.

"Really?"

He nodded, and smiled back. "Truly," he replied with a small wink. "So please—take your time, and consider the missive's merits, few as they may seem now," he appealed to her gently. "And—if you don't mind me saying so—perhaps it would ease your mind to discuss it with Princess Anna."

Her brow rose sharply at the suggestion.

"How would that  _ease_ my mind, Kai?"

 _She'd probably say I'm crazy for even_ thinking  _about going to the Isles,_ she mused with a frown, her arms unconsciously crossing.

"I have the feeling that the Princess may be more willing to contemplate the idea if  _you_ are the one suggesting it," he said, his eyes warm. "Her Highness can be quite feisty, of course, but she also adores you, Your Majesty—and if you were really set on something, I think even  _she_  would find it difficult to refuse you."

Elsa looked apprehensive at the remark, wondering if there was really any truth to it.

After all, weren't they talking about the same Princess Anna who—when told by her older sister that she had to look  _extra_ presentable at an official dinner with the King and Queen of Madris—had come back into the castle, soaked to the bone from diving into the fjord with Olaf, only ten minutes before the event?

She hid a mixture of a grimace and a smile at the recollection, and the outward result of these confused feelings was a simple, resigned shrug.

"We'll see."

* * *

" **No."**

Elsa swallowed a sigh, trying to be patient.

"It would only be for two weeks, and they've already reassured me on multiple occasions that  _he_ won't be present—"

"No," Anna repeated firmly, and stabbed her fork through her chicken with particular ferocity _._ "No  _way,_ Elsa."

Finally, her older sister frowned. "Anna, be  _reasonable,_ " she urged quietly, glancing warily at the guards posted at either end of the dining hall. "I've already been avoiding this for far too long, and it would be best if—"

"Then you can  _keep_ on avoiding it!" Anna exclaimed, glaring. "Honestly, Elsa, what are they going to do? Start a  _war_ because the queen that their  _stupid, sideburny, no-good, lying, not-even-that-good-looking_ son tried to kill won't visit them? I don't  **think**  so."

Elsa's brow rose at the long list of colourful adjectives, and Anna reddened.

"I'm just  _saying,_ " she emphasized, stuffing a piece of the chicken in her mouth, "You don't  _have_ to do this. In fact," she added, talking between chews (despite knowing Elsa  _hated_ that habit), "you're better off not going there at all. Just  _think_  about it, Elsa," she said, swallowing, "if  _he_  was the youngest of  _thirteen_ brothers, and if even  _he,_ the baby, turned out so bad, what about the others? And what about his  _parents?"_ Anna shuddered at the thought. "I don't even want to imagine what  _creeps_ they must be."

 _She has a point,_ Elsa conceded, if only internally. Indeed, she had wondered about the same thing herself on many occasions over the past few months, usually after reading and re-reading the missives from the Isles so many times as to make the words on the paper appear unrecognisable.

Still, she didn't want to admit defeat just yet. "Even so," she began more slowly, ignoring Anna's irritated look at her remark being dismissed, "that doesn't change the fact that we need to repair our relationship with them, so that they can recommend us to other potential trading partners; it hasn't been easy securing those, since so many other kingdoms don't—"

She cut herself short as her expression dropped, and she gripped her own fork and knife tightly.

 _. . . don't want anything to do with me_ or  _my curse._

Anna read her sister's distraught brow and light eyes easily, and her own look eased, appearing more sympathetic.

"I know," she said finally, and placed her hand atop Elsa's. Her sister's skin was icy. "I know, Elsa."

Elsa warmed, but only a little, and Anna sighed.

"Look, I—I'm not just saying 'no' because of what he did to  _me_ ," she said, "and not even because of what he  _almost_ did to you." Her nose wrinkled at the memory. "Even if—and this is a big  _if_ —he really  _is_  in exile like they keep saying he is, and they are honest about wanting you to come over to 'make peace' or whatever," she continued, frowning, "it just doesn't . . .  _feel_ right, somehow."

She gripped Elsa's hand for effect. "I'm afraid that something would happen to you over there, something—something  _bad."_

Elsa smiled a little at her sister's concern, unable to help but feel touched by it.

"There's always danger in travelling beyond the gates, Anna," she reminded her, "but we made a promise to each other, didn't we? That we'd keep them  _open?"_

Anna pinked at those words, though her blue eyes grew stubborn.

"I don't see how that has anything to do with you going into that  _snake pit_ ," she retorted with a glare.

Elsa's brow rose expectantly. "Keeping the doors open doesn't just mean allowing people in—it also means that we can go  _out_."

Anna's lips pursed in a fashion similar to Elsa's, and she pouted.

"But do you have to go out  _there?"_

Elsa shrugged as she absently sipped her wine. "Of course I don't  _want_ to, Anna, but that's not the point." She tiredly poked at the steamed cabbage, now cold, on her plate. "Sometimes, the best way to come to terms with the past is just to . . . confront it head-on, I suppose."

Anna gaze was sceptical. "Did  _Kai_  tell you that?"

Elsa frowned. " _No,_  he didn't," she replied, miffed at the suggestion. As she stared at her abandoned plate of food, however, her lips relaxed. "Actually, it's something that I—that I've been thinking about for a while, myself." She rested her chin in her palm and—to Anna's surprise—placed her elbows directly on the table, closing her eyes briefly.

"I just want to get this over with so I don't have to think about it anymore, to be perfectly honest."

Anna finally smiled at this admission, though she kept her expression impressively determined.

"Well,  _that_ I can understand," she quipped, making the queen smile a little as well. "But if you go, I'm coming with you."

Elsa's eyes snapped open again at this comment, and she gazed at Anna in surprise.

"What, Anna, no—"

"I won't take 'no' for an answer, Elsa," her younger sister replied, crossing her arms. "There's no way I'm letting you go there by yourself."

A chill blew across the room.

"You  _have_ to, Anna," Elsa said succinctly, and Anna shivered at the sudden cold. "I won't leave Arendelle without a ruler in my stead, and—as much as I trust Kai and the others—I would vastly prefer it if  _you_ were the one watching over the kingdom."

Anna blushed with pride at this, but—sensing that Elsa was building her up on purpose to distract her from her goal—she shook her head and frowned more deeply than ever.

" _No_ , Elsa," she repeated, her arms tense as the chill continued to hover around the dining table. "You can't  _seriously_ expect me to sit here and watch you go off to that—that—that  _place!"_ she exclaimed, and suddenly threw her hands up in frustration. "I'd be worried sick every second of every  _day_  that you were away!"

Elsa wanted to be irritated at Anna's obstinacy, but found herself, once again, moved by her sister's affection—even if it was a slight inconvenience to her present aims.

_She really loves me._

"I'll write to you every day—twice a day, even," Elsa promised, hoping the conciliatory gesture would soothe Anna's nerves.

Her sister's frown, however, only grew.

"You're talking like you've already decided to leave me behind."

Elsa looked pained at this, but couldn't deny it.

_I can't take her with me._

"What am I supposed to  _do_ here, anyway, if you leave?" she asked suddenly, gesturing around the large, empty dining hall with a wrinkled nose. "Attend your boring meetings about politics? Organise balls?  _Greet visitors?"_ This last suggestion caused her to stick her tongue out in distaste. "It sounds  _awful."_

"I thought you  _liked_  organising balls," Elsa remarked, trying to hide her smirk at Anna's theatrics.

"Only if  _you're_ there, too!" she shot back, pouting petulantly. "Who am I going to talk to if you're gone?"

Elsa smiled more genuinely at this. "I'm sure you'll manage it," she said confidently, and added with the slightest of conspiratorial tones: "Besides, Kristoff will be around to keep you company, won't he? Not to mention Sven and Olaf."

Anna's lip twitched as she turned bright red, and Elsa continued: "Anyway, I need you here to welcome Prince Eugene when he calls at port from Corona, since I don't think I'll make it back in time to see hi—"

" _Flynn_ is coming to court?" Anna asked excitedly, nearly jumping in her seat at the news. "When?"

The queen gave her a lightly reproving look. "You really have to remember to call him by his  _actual_ name, Anna," she reminded her, though the girl ignored her sister's comment.

"Oh, he doesn't mind," she said dismissively. "Just so long as I don't call him that when Rapunzel's around."

" _Princess_ Rapunzel," Elsa corrected again, but without her usual, chiding tone. "But you really should try to address him properly while he's here."

Anna rolled her eyes. "If you say so," she said with a shrug, though her gaze lit up again in the next moment, turning on Elsa with sudden forcefulness. "Hey! Stop trying to distract me!"

Elsa blinked. "From what?"

Anna scowled.

"From the issue of  _you_ going  _alone_ into the vipers' den, which I totally did  _not_  agree to yet!"

Elsa's brow rose wearily.

_I guess she can't bring herself to just say "the Southern Isles," can she?_

"It's not a matter of you  _agreeing_  to it or not," she said sternly, recognizing that her attempt to approach the issue more gently had failed. "You're staying here, and that's final, because—" She paused, meeting Anna's angry stare.

"Because I don't want  _you_ getting hurt, either."

Her look was knowing, and pierced through her sister's peevishness with stinging clarity.

"And I know that going there will only bring up bad memories for you."

Anna's scowl lessened on this point, though she remained unconvinced. "Weren't you the one who said we have to 'confront the past head-on' so we can get over it?" Her look softened a little.

"Why don't we do that  _together,_ Elsa?"

Elsa felt her resolve weaken at her sister's plaintive tone, one part of her desperately wanting to give in and say  _yes, of course Anna, what was I thinking? I would_ never _go without you!—_ but the other part viciously rejecting the idea even more strongly than before.

"We just . . .  _can't,"_ she said finally, breathing in sharply as she saw Anna's expression fall at the answer. "I need you here,"she added steadfastly, regaining her bearings, "in case anything  _does_ happen to me over there." She stared at Anna pointedly, and concluded:

"One of us  _has_  to be here—for Arendelle."

Anna was uncharacteristically silent at this; when she finally spoke, her lips were pressed in a thin, unhappy line.

"Even  _if_  you're right," she started slowly, her gaze unusually sharp, "I don't like this, Elsa. I don't like this at  _all."_

Elsa gripped her wineglass, and her blue eyes tightened.

"Neither do I."


	3. Chapter 2: The Gossip

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for taking a tad longer than expected to upload this next chapter. But from here on out, you can expect about an update a week. Hope you enjoy!

# Chapter 2: The Gossip

The longer Elsa stood and watched as Gerda and her assistants bustled about the bedroom packing her belongings into a series of luggage cases, the more she felt herself doubting every decision she had made in the past month.

_I'm not_ actually  _going, am I?_

It hadn't seemed any realer two weeks ago, when she received an unexpectedly prompt reply from the Southern Isles after sending her note accepting their proposal. At the time, though, she'd simply pushed that letter towards Kai to read aloud to her, refusing to allow herself to get so worked up again over a flimsy piece of  _paper_.

Even though he'd read the words to her, and she had, at the time, acknowledged them, a part of her wondered if she had _really_ understood anything he'd said at all.

_I guess I have to go now anyway, whether I understood or not,_ she thought, defeated, and sat down in a chair by her dresser, turning towards her mirror.

A tired, drawn face stared back at her, and she frowned.

_I haven't slept enough recently, either._

She pulled lightly at the bags under her eyes before sighing and rolling her head slowly across her shoulders, attempting to stretch the sore, tight muscles there.

A  _knock_ thumped against the door, followed by Kai's voice as Gerda opened it for him.

"Queen Elsa?"

She looked up at the door, her eyes blank from exhaustion, and nodded lightly. "Come in, Kai," she said gently, not rising as she normally would, and gestured for him to sit in the chair by her.

Seeing that he had brought her no books or particular documents to read in preparation for her visit—during his last appearance, he had produced a four-volume set of tomes entitled, ironically,  _A Brief History of the Southern Isles and Their Ruling Families_ —she was somewhat intrigued by his empty hands.

"You have some news to tell me?"

Kai nodded diligently. "Yes, Your Majesty. I wanted to inform you in advance of your departu—"

From the corner of her eye, Elsa noticed Olaf waddling in past the guards outside, and she regarded him with a smile, distracted from whatever Kai had started to say. She wasn't used to the snowman wandering into her room, since he and Anna were closer friends and usually he went directly to her.

Somehow, though, his presence was a welcome respite from Kai's serious stare.

_And all of_ this.

"Olaf," she greeted him warmly, and the snowman paused in watching Gerda's and the other maids' antics long enough to glance back at her in surprise.

"Elsa!" he exclaimed, hopping over to her with a toothy grin, and his snow cloud, as always, was in tow overhead. "So you're really leaving, huh?"

Her smile faded at this question, and he pressed one of his twiggy arms to her lap in concern.

"Oh, uh, I didn't mean to sound so happy about it," he said with a sheepish look. "I mean, we're all going to miss you a lot when you go."

He added, after a pause: " _Especially_ Anna."

Elsa tensed at this without meaning to, and she closed her eyes for a moment.

_He's always so . . ._ straightforward,  _isn't he?_

It was a quality she'd never had, and so she supposed she had subconsciously imparted her desire for it to Olaf when she'd created him. And amazingly, even after a year, he still managed to catch her off-guard with his remarkably pointed observations.

Her smile was small, but genuine. "I know," she said after a time, and gave Olaf's arm a slight, affectionate squeeze. "And I'll miss all of you, too."

Olaf looked reassured by her answer, and patted her leg.

"Just remember, if you need someone to beat up that creep who tried to kill you," he said with narrowed eyes, his voice lowering and his tone grave,  _"I got your back."_

Elsa hid a giggle at this, doing her best to keep her expression just as grim.

"Of  _course,_ Olaf," she whispered back with a furrowed brow, though her lip twitched in amusement. "I wouldn't even  _dream_ of going to anyone else."

When the snowman was decidedly satisfied with this reassurance, he drew back from the queen.

"Good. Well, it was nice talking to you, Elsa," he said as he glanced at the women packing her bags again, and then back at her. "I'll see  _you_ later," he added with a knowing look as he slowly left the room.

Elsa couldn't help but give in to the laughter bubbling up inside of her when the door shut behind him, and she was doubly thankful that Kai didn't appear to disapprove of her doing so. She rubbed her eyes as the giggles subsided, smiling widely.

"I apologise for the interruption, Kai," she said as she straightened herself out in her chair again, facing him fully. "He doesn't visit often, so I thought it couldn't hurt to let him in."

Kai smiled. "On the contrary, Your Majesty," he said, bowing his head a little, "I think it's a good thing that he  _did_ visit. You were looking rather . . ." he paused, " _weary_ before he showed up, if you don't mind me saying so."

She shook her head, and another sigh involuntarily escaped her lips.

"No, you're right," she admitted easily. "I've just been so . . .  _tired_ recently, what with preparing to leave and making all the necessary arrangements for Anna," she tried to explain, and her hands locked messily in her lap. "I haven't had much time to sleep, or even to—to . . ."

_. . . to_ process  _all of this,_ she thought with a small frown.

Kai nodded in understanding, and patted her coiled hands gently. "It's been a difficult few weeks, I know," he said, and his calm voice relaxed her. "But I think you've held up remarkably well under the circumstances, my Queen."

She pinked. "I'm glad you think so."

His brow rose. "I  _know_ so," he remarked, and smiled when her stare met his in surprise. He coughed after a moment. "Anyway, I came here to speak with you about something . . .  _important_ ," he said vaguely, and glanced at Gerda and the other ladies in the room.

Elsa immediately snapped to attention. "Yes, of course—I'm sorry for getting distracted earlier," she apologised quickly, though Kai dismissed the gesture with a shake of his head.

"There's no need, Your Majesty," he said.

She turned to Gerda in the next moment. "Gerda, would you mind giving us some privacy?"

Her lady-in-waiting nodded dutifully. "Of course, Your Majesty," she responded and waved out the other girls, leaving last so she could close the door behind them.

Once alone again, Elsa's gaze returned to Kai's. "So—what was it that you wanted to discuss?"

He cleared his throat. "Well, knowing that you've likely already finished the volumes I brought you during my last visit," he began, "I thought I'd better come to personally fill in the gaps as to the nature of the Isles'  _current_ rulers."

She swallowed nervously at his confidence in her studiousness.

_I suppose this wouldn't be a good time to mention that I'm only halfway through the_ second _book._

She pushed away the guilty thought, and nodded. "Of course. What about them, Kai?"

"As you know, Your Majesty," he replied, "the Isles are currently administered by Their Royal Majesties King Oskar of the Westergards and his wife, Queen Therese, and—as you're probably also aware—the King and Queen have sired thirteen boys during their reign, one of whom was—" Kai paused, and flushed with irritation at the thought of him. "Well, there's no need to speak his name."

Elsa's eyes narrowed. " _No,_ there isn't," she agreed thinly, and a small flurry of snowflakes rushed past her cold expression.

Kai swallowed. Even being used to seeing her powers as he was, they were still somewhat terrifying in their beauty to behold.

"I—I wasn't sure if you'd heard any of the stories about . . . about Queen Therese," he said haltingly, hoping to pique her interest enough to bring some warmth back to the room. "There are many, you see, and, well . . . none paint in her in a  _particularly_ flattering light, to say the least."

Thankfully, Elsa's curiosity won out over her temporary anger at the mention of the traitor, and the snow disappeared.

"What do you mean, Kai?"

He relaxed a little, but his tone grew sombre. "I don't want to simply repeat awful rumours about her and the King to you, Your Majesty, lest they be factually inaccurate," he said judiciously, "but I feel it's my duty to make you aware of what has been said."

Elsa refrained from rolling her eyes at his hedging preface, doing her utmost to keep her expression clear and attentive.

"I understand," she assured him, "so please proceed."

He nodded at this encouragement, and continued.

"She's a very . . .  _unique_ individual, Your Majesty. A seamstress who rose up to become the Queen of the Southern Isles—it's practically unbelievable. And although her simple origins have endeared her to the public," he said with a frown, "you can imagine the kind of resentment it's caused towards her amongst the courtiers there over the years."

Elsa nodded softly at this, but her brows furrowed. "But how did she become Queen, then? And how did she maintain her position, when—as you say—so many dislike her for it?"

Kai looked uncertain. "Her rise to power is the most difficult thing to explain, I'm afraid, when trying to separate the truth from fiction," he admitted, his shoulders tense. "Some say she disguised herself as a courtier and seduced the King during a ball; others that she used magic to enchant him while he was visiting the village where she lived; and then, there are those who say—who say that she . . ."

When he didn't finish, his expression troubled, Elsa waited with bated breath.

"What, Kai? What do they say?"

He reddened, looking down. "Forgive me, Your Majesty," he said, contrite. "It's too awful a rumour to repeat, I think."

Elsa swallowed a frown at his hesitation, forcing herself to be patient with him.

"Please, Kai," she touched his hand softly, "it's all right."

He looked up at her again, and their eyes locked; his, she noted, were more anxious than ever.

"They say that she—that she  _killed_  someone," he said finally. "Someone close to her: a brother, sister . . . even her  _mother or_   _father,"_ he said, mortified. He added, more quietly: "And all that just to take the throne and marry a man who was old enough to be her father."

Elsa swallowed uneasily, suddenly understanding why Kai had been so uncomfortable in telling the tale.

_It sounds like something out of a gothic novel,_ she thought darkly, her heart thudding faster in her chest,  _and just as hard to believe._

She stared apprehensively at her hands in her lap, then up at Kai's grave features.

"Is this—is  _any_ of this—really true, though?"

He frowned, his brows knitting together. "Honestly, Your Majesty, I cannot say for certain," he confessed. "But if even  _one_  of these things has  _any_  truth to it," he continued, eyeing her cautiously, "then you must absolutely be on your guard when you are there, for she is  _not_  a woman to be trifled with."

_Obviously_   _not,_ Elsa thought, and a strange chill ran down her spine at the image which her mind suddenly spun of the wicked Southern Queen: a tall woman, black of hair and black of eyes, with lips as red as the roses of summer . . .

"What does she look like?" she asked Kai suddenly, wanting to erase the dark picture from her thoughts.

He was taken aback by the query. "Well, I'm not entirely sure, since I've never met her myself, but . . ." He wracked his brain for a memory—of something that someone had said once to him about it, or something he'd read in the papers—and when he seemed to land upon it, he scratched his chin thoughtfully. "I vaguely recall hearing that she had eyes as bright as emeralds, and hair like maple leaves in autumn," he said slowly, "but I could be mistaken." He blushed a little. "All I know for certain is that she is meant to be beautiful—one of the most beautiful women in all the lands, in her youth—but, of course," he quickly corrected himself, "now, considering her age, I doubt she can hold a candle to  _you,_ Queen Elsa."

Elsa wanted to blush at the compliment, but she was too caught up in the depiction of the Queen's features to fully appreciate it then. She closed her eyes as she tried to picture the woman Kai had described in her mind: eyes as bright as emeralds, and hair like maple leaves in autumn—

_Your sister is dead . . . because of_ you _._

Her eyes shot open at the memory, and she gripped the fabric of her dress tightly, grimacing as she felt it become icy beneath her fingertips.

_Why did I—why did I suddenly remember_ him?

As she calmed herself down again, the answer was clear to her; in fact, she wondered how it hadn't occurred to her even as the words had left Kai's lips.

_Of course she would look like_ him, she thought to herself, frowning.  _Or, more likely:_ he _looks like_ her.

"Your Majesty?"

She shook off the unpleasant thought, and greeted Kai's worried gaze.

"I'm sorry, I—I was off somewhere else for a moment," she excused herself with an unconvincing laugh. "Was that all, Kai?"

He didn't look convinced by her explanation, unsurprisingly. Nonetheless, he carried on, sensing her discomfort with the previous topic.

"Well, there are a  _few_  more details you should know."

Her eyebrow rose reluctantly in curiosity. "Such as?"

"King Oskar, for instance," he started with a much easier expression than the one he had worn for Queen Therese, "is also an interesting case. As I mentioned earlier," he continued, "he married the Queen while she was still just a girl, no more than fifteen—and he over forty."

Elsa held back a small gasp at this age difference, not having expected it to be quite  _that_ large.

" _Fifteen?"_ she asked incredulously, to which Kai nodded solemnly.

"I'm afraid so," he confirmed. "And she was not his first wife, of course—he'd been married once previously, also to a younger woman, but she unfortunately died in childbirth, and he married Queen Therese mere  _months_ after the previous queen's passing." He pursed his lips in disapproval. "Had he not taken another wife and produced an heir to the throne, however, it was likely that one of his two younger brothers might have tried to depose him."

Elsa's gaze flashed with recognition at this information.

_Maybe he didn't_ just _get it from his mother after all._

Kai went on. "And even though he  _did_ go on to produce many heirs with the young Queen, I'm afraid that there are equally unhappy reports circling around the King."

Elsa stared at him expectantly, and he explained: "Although he's very advanced in age now—nearly eighty, I suspect—he's never been a particularly . . .  _respected_ ruler," he said, and from his tone it was obvious to her that he was reluctant to cast too many aspersions on the King while he lived. "According to my contacts who have visited the Isles, he's regarded as being quite, well,  _susceptible_ to the wishes of the Queen—even in official matters of state."

When Elsa's lips turned down in a sudden frown, Kai backpedalled, red as a cherry.

"Of course, that's not to say she doesn't have the right to advise him privately or even to attend such meetings in person, Your Majesty," he amended, though Elsa's look was as profoundly annoyed as before. "I meant—that is—well," he stuttered, looking guiltier than a chastised dog, "the Isles—they're not as  _progressive_ when it comes to this sort of thing."

He couldn't look her in the eyes, though her expression had lightened at this last comment.

"A woman's involvement in diplomatic affairs, trade, military issues—it's simply  _unheard_ of there," he explained. "Or, at least, it  _was_. . . before the current Queen came to power."

Elsa considered this idea with wide eyes, but not with any particular sense of shock.

She had often suspected, in fact, that—rather than being intimidated by her powers to create snow monsters out of thin air or ice daggers sharper than the swords most soldiers carried—the  _real_ reason that some of the neighbouring kingdoms to the east had refused Arendelle's trade had more to do with her lack of a husband ruling in her place.

_But I thought the Southern Isles wouldn't have such problems,_ she mused,  _since they are fairly close to us by comparison._

"So the Queen controls him," she surmised bluntly, "and thus his own people do not respect him."

Kai blushed at her forthrightness, unused to it. "In a matter of speaking . . . yes," he conceded. Pausing for a moment, he then added: "But there's something else about the King, as well, that has led to these strange circumstances."

"Go on," Elsa pressed him, and he fidgeted uncomfortably.

"Again, Your Majesty it's—it's not an easy thing to discuss in . . .  _polite_  society," he said reticently, "since it has to do with—with the  _paternity_ of the King's sons."

Her face flushed.

"Paternity?"

His cheeks were equally rouged. "Yes—at least, that is what the  _gossips_  say," he emphasised, sitting straight up in the chair. "But I must stress that such rumours have never been proven true, and the King himself has claimed all of his and the Queen's sons as his own, so . . ."

"But the possibility remains," Elsa cut in as he trailed off, her expression returning to its normal pallor. "Doesn't it, Kai?"

His answer was unusually circumspect.

"Yes, I suppose so."

She thought of  _him_ in that moment—tall and proud, a regal nose, fine auburn hair—and found it difficult to consider the possibility that he might not be of royal blood at all.

_But there are far stranger things in this world than a handsome man of low birth,_ she reminded herself, and looked down at her bare hands in consternation.

"And what of the Queen, then?" she inquired, pushing away the stray thought. "If not her husband, then surely  _she,_ at least, must have the public's support?"

"A very astute observation, Your Majesty," Kai praised her. "Indeed, you are correct: the Queen appears to have taken great pains over the course of her reign to ensure that the public's affections remain in her favour," he noted, "mainly through the normal means of 'bread and circuses,' but also by way of public works projects and regular engagement with the people."

At this information, Elsa didn't know whether to admire the woman's tenacity . . . or to be even  _more_  apprehensive of her singular, overwhelming drive to maintain her hold on power through whatever means necessary.

_Oh, Anna . . . if only there was someone out there who loved you._

The latter feeling towards the Queen won a decisive victory in that moment, and Elsa snapped her hand open and shut long enough to create a large burst of snow to hurl into the wall on the other side of the room.

"What about the brothers?" she asked suddenly, her forehead wrinkled in irritation. "Do you know anything about  _them?"_

Kai nearly bolted out of his seat in surprise at the snow blast; soon, however, he realized that it was just another one of Elsa's "stress-related" moments, as he called them, and he relaxed again.

"I'm afraid I don't know much, Your Majesty," he confessed embarrassedly. "Only a few details about their occupations and such."

He cleared his throat as impatience finally began to surface on her features, and went straight to the point.

"The oldest—Magnus, I think his name was—is a general in the Army there," he began, "and the second-oldest—Finn, Ferdinand, I can't quite remember—is the head of the Royal Guard." He looked off to the side in thought. "The others are mainly diplomats and military officers in the Royal Army and Navy, from what I understand, but I'm sorry to say I can't recall their names at the moment."

"I'm sure I'll learn them soon enough," Elsa said with a disinterested frown, her eyes narrowing.

Seeing her crossness, Kai tried to change the subject. "Anyway, this all goes to show, I believe," he said somewhat nervously, "that this Queen Therese can prove to be a powerful ally for us."

"Or a formidable enemy," Elsa countered, her blue eyes sharp.

Suddenly, she was reminded of what Anna had called the Isles during their conversation at dinner two weeks ago—a "snake den," or had it been the "vipers' pit"? She was sure she was mixing them up somehow—but the descriptors now seemed more fitting than ever.

Kai swallowed, discomfited at the idea. "Yes, or  _that_." He sighed, resigned. "In any case, I don't think that you going there will hurt our chances for friendship. And besides," he added, "in spite of their worsened reputation, the reports coming in recently show signs that their relations with previous allies have been improving, and some of these allies are the very same ones who have been . . .  _reluctant_ to partner on similar terms with Arendelle."

His observation went straight to the heart of the matter, and Elsa understood it keenly. The reminder that her kingdom remained cut off from important trade routes that it desperately needed to maintain a comfortable standard of living for all of its citizens—and that this was on account of her powers, or, perhaps, her  _gender_  and  _unmarried_  status—had the sudden and crushing effect of ending the futile debate in her heart that would otherwise have lasted until the day she set foot on the boat headed for the Isles.

"I understand," she said soberly, and her expression was hollow. "And I will go."

Kai's expression fell at her heavy voice, and he tentatively rested his hands on her shoulders, making her flinch.

"If you need me to, I—I would gladly accompany you, my Queen," he said seriously, and his grip tightened. "Just say the word."

Elsa shook her head. "No, Kai," she said softly, "I need you  _here._ With Anna." Her gaze, still distant, locked with his. "She'll need your help more than I will." After a pause, she added: "And besides, I'll have Leif with me, and, well, you know him—he's as hard-nosed as they come. I'm sure he'll be able to guide me through the negotiations."

Kai sighed in defeat. "I understand," he acknowledged her point, and rose from his chair. "I'll do everything in my power to make sure things run smoothly in your absence, Your Majesty."

And with this concluding reassurance, he bowed gently to her and left the room—but not before shooting her his usual look of distress at the predicament.

Elsa released another blast of snow at the wall just as soon as Kai was gone, though she was mortified to find that it had created a crater in its wake.

_I really_ have  _to stop doing that,_ she reprimanded herself, and finally withdrew a pair of thin gloves from a nearby drawer.

She felt a mixture of relief and irritation as she slipped them on, glancing up at the hole in the wall with a grimace; she supposed, as much as she had been trying to keep from wearing any kind of gloves recently, she still needed them while she was learning to control her powers.

However, as she stared down at the white gloves—a present from Kristoff for her last birthday (and one that Anna had nearly killed him for), since he'd observed, correctly, that she didn't have much in the way of  _variety_  with that particular accessory—a sense of dread struck her, and she clasped her hands together tightly.

_I'll have to wear these_ all the time _there, won't I?_

It was a bitterly unattractive idea—in fact, it made her scowl to even  _consider_  it—but, all the same, she knew it would have to become a practical reality.

After all, bearing in mind the fantastical stories Kai had just regaled her with, coupled to her  _own_ experience with the progeny of the Isles' ruling family, she could easily imagine herself losing control of her temper—and where her temper flew, so, too often, did little shards of ice from her fingertips.

But she couldn't do that—or, more to the point, she couldn't  _let_ herself do that—anymore.

_Unless, of course,_ her mind interrupted,  _a certain_ someone  _decides to show up._

She swatted away the cruel thought just as quickly as it had come, baffled by her sudden was no way she would be seeing him, anyway, since he was, as the letters from the Isles had  _repeatedly_  made clear, both cut off from the throne  _and_ living in exile on some far-off island.

_But it's still an island in the Southern Isles,_ her brain reminded her, and she frowned at the notion.

Even if he  _were_ still in the Isles chain, she highly doubted—given what she now knew of Queen Therese and her great cunning—that his mother would dare to allow him anywhere  _near_  the main island of Strande, let alone even speak his  _name_ in Elsa's presence, lest she permanently ruin any chance their kingdoms had to finally make right what he had thrown into disorder.

She contradictorily reassured herself at last with the idea of the Queen's ruthless determination working in her favour, and moved to sit by the window.

Nevertheless, as she stared out onto the kingdom below, watching children play by the fountain in the castle courtyard under the warm, summer sun, something inside of Elsa stirred—and a coldly familiar feeling struck her heart.

_Fear._

* * *

There was a knock on the door to her study, but she didn't bother looking up from her paperwork.

"Come in," she said automatically, signing her name onto what seemed like the  _hundredth_  document with a cramping hand.

Anna peeked her head out from behind the door, at first; however, seeing the queen so intensely concentrated on her papers, she ducked a little.

"Oh, sorry—I didn't realize you were still—"

Elsa finally glanced up, recognising the voice, and she stood in surprise.

"Anna! Please, don't leave," she said hurriedly, gesturing to an empty chair by the desk. "I was just about to finish, anyway."

Anna smiled brightly at this, though Elsa suspected that her younger sister knew that she was lying, since there was never a "finish" to the work of the Queen of Arendelle, even as the clock neared midnight.

"I just need to do one thing," Elsa excused herself, and rolled up the letter she had signed, hoping that she hadn't smudged the ink too badly inside. Once rolled, the queen blew softly into her open palm—creating a tiny, beautiful ice fractal in the shape of an official seal—and pressed it to the paper, freezing it shut.

Anna watched the process fascinatedly as if it were the first time, rather than the  _thousandth,_  that she were witnessing it; and Elsa, amused by her sister's enthrallment with the simple act, handed the letter to her.

Anna blinked, her eyes wide. "Can I—can I touch it?" she asked innocently, staring down at the seal of ice.

Elsa smiled. "Of course." After a moment, she added with a smirk: "I promise it won't melt."

Anna rolled her eyes at the remark, though it made her smile as well. "Well,  _duh,"_ she said, and inspected the seal close-up. "It's  _your_ ice, after all." She lightly pressed her fingers against it, and there was a kind of reverence for Elsa's powers in her touch. As she stared at the creation, it seemed to glitter and glow with a hundred different colours, capturing and refracting every bit of light from around the room.

"It's so beautiful," she whispered, mesmerised.

Elsa reddened, unused to Anna being . . . well,  _stunned_ into such quietude.

"Thank you," she said awkwardly, and coughed suddenly, hoping to dispel the silence.

Anna blushed herself, embarrassed to have been caught ogling her sister's magic.

"Sorry," she said quickly, and handed the letter back to Elsa. "I just—it's just—well, it's really pretty," she explained, flustered.

Elsa smiled again at this, and squeezed Anna's shoulder tenderly.

"It's fine," she said gently, placing the letter back down on the table. Her eyes glanced behind Anna to check the grandfather clock at the opposite end of the room, and they widened when she realized what time it was.

"Oh!" she exclaimed, surprised, and turned her large blue irises onto her sister. "What are you doing here so late?"

Anna glanced at the clock as well—though she knew what it would say without needing to see it—and shrugged nonchalantly.

"It's not that late," she said, making Elsa's brow raise sceptically, "not for  _me,_ anyway." She was indifferent to her older sister's questioning look. "You know me. I don't really  _get_  sleepy, since I always have too much energ—"

She yawned suddenly, and Elsa grinned.

"You were saying?"

Anna's face heated in embarrassment. "I  _usually_ have too much energy," she mumbled under breath, and Elsa giggled behind her hand.

The queen tried to put on a more serious face after a moment, and sighed.

"Well, you should really try to go to sleep at a  _normal_ hour, Anna," she told her, though a smile broke through her attempt to give this advice. "But, seeing as  _I'm_  still awake as well," she conceded, "I suppose I shouldn't be telling you what 'normal' is."

Anna was taken aback by this self-aware comment, but managed to grin about it in the next moment, nudging her sister gently in the ribs.

"No, you shouldn't be," she agreed, and the two laughed.

As their laughter subsided, Elsa regarded Anna with genuine curiosity.

"So . . . what brings you here, then?" she asked, her brow furrowing. "It's—it's been a while since you visited, after all."

Anna bit her lip at the query, suddenly feeling awkward.

"Oh, uh, well, I guess I just—I just wanted to see you, and, uh, apologise about—about how I've  _been,_ lately," she said, and a small frown settled onto her pink lips. "I mean, you're leaving  _tomorrow_ , and I just didn't want—I didn't want things to be  _weird_  between us before you left, I guess."

Elsa's own smile dissipated at the reminder of her upcoming trip—not to mention the reminder of why she was still even  _up_ so late in the evening, the night before her departure, signing stacks upon stacks of papers.

Likewise, Anna's comments brought to mind the on-and-off frosty relations between the two sisters in the weeks since Elsa had made her decision to leave. The Princess had been in a near-constant irritable mood since Kai had started her on a strict schedule of lessons on the management of the state, the history of the Royal Council, and on the ruling families of their neighbouring kingdoms, leaving her little time to go off and see Kristoff, let  _alone_  talk much with Olaf inside the castle.

Seeing her younger sister so unhappy at this turn of events had roiled Elsa with guilt, though Kai was always quick to detect this and chide her for even  _daring_ to feel it.

_After all_ , he would always say to her,  _Anna is to be the Princess Regent, and she must learn these things at some point or another—it might as well be now, while you are away._

Not wanting Anna to see her personal reservations with the situation, Elsa gestured for her sister to sit down by her in the spare chair, and warmly took the girl's hand into her own.

"I know it's been hard on you, too," she said kindly, and Anna looked down as if ashamed. "Learning so many new things, and not having much time to yourself . . . I really do appreciate everything you've done for me."

Anna looked surprised at Elsa's gratitude, not having expected to receive it. "It's—it's nothing," she tried to shrug it off, blushing. "It's not like I could just keep on doing whatever I wanted anyway, right?" She smiled tiredly. "It's just . . . I'm so  _bad_ at this stuff, Elsa!"

Elsa's lip twitched with a grin as Anna sighed loudly, flopping back against the plush chair.

"Memorizing the names of all these kings and queens and dukes and  _earls,"_ she listed wearily, "plus all their fathers and grandfathers and great-grandfathers and great-great- _great_ grandfathers . . ." she trailed off, and pressed her fingers to her temples. "It's  _impossible!"_

Elsa smiled widely. "I'm sure you'll manage."

Anna stared back at her sister's smile with a sceptical frown. "I'm not even managing  _now,"_ she groaned, and her eyes met Elsa's with begrudging admiration. "I really don't know how you do it," she said, a hint of envy colouring her tone. "I mean, I was always jealous of how smart you were when we were kids, but  _now_  . . ." She pouted. "I  _really_ feel like there's no chance that I'll  _ever_ catch up to you."

Elsa sighed quietly at this, and squeezed Anna's hand. "Don't underestimate yourself, Anna," she told her, and her eyes were steady. "You're strong, and kind, and—and you're braver than I could ever be," she assured her, though a flash of pain darted across her blue eyes at the admission. "I'm sure—no, I  _know_ that you'll do a fine job in my place."

She wondered if Anna had seen the brief regret in her expression—that dash of sorrow—but from the girl's warm cheeks and even warmer hand in hers, she somehow doubted it.

"Thanks, Elsa," she said quietly, and suddenly hugged her older sister tightly. "I'm really going to miss you when you're gone," she added in just above a whisper, and Elsa thought she could hear a small sniffle as Anna buried her face in her shoulder, her arms shaking.

"Anna?" she said concernedly, tentatively stroking the back of her sister's strawberry-blonde head. "Are you—are you all right?"

The girl hesitated for a moment, still clinging to Elsa; soon after, however, she separated from her with lightly red eyes, and sniffled as she wiped away any trace of tears, a bright smile plastered onto her features.

"I'm fine," she said cheerfully, dismissing Elsa's apprehension. "Just got caught up in the moment." She grinned to prove this, though she still had to sniffle a couple more times to remove any last evidence of her moment of weakness. "Anyway, I, uh—I guess I'd better let you get back to your work," she said as she stood again from the seat, glancing at the pile of letters. "Just, um, make sure you get some sleep tonight, all right? Because I don't wanna have to see you off with huge, ugly bags under your eyes."

Elsa's brow rose at this, and Anna reddened.

"Not that you ever  _get_ huge, ugly bags there, or anything," she stammered nervously. "I just meant—uh, you know—"

"It's  _fine,_ Anna," Elsa cut short her rambling with an amused look. "I'm a person like anyone else—and I  _do_ get huge, ugly bags under my eyes, too."

Anna's lips curled into a shy smile at this admission, and Elsa patted her on the shoulder. "Anyway, I promise I won't stay up too late—so you should go now, too, and get some rest."

Anna nodded reluctantly, and gave her sister one last, brief hug before finally making her way back to the door, still smiling. "See ya tomorrow," she said and waved in parting, waiting until Elsa had waved back to quietly close the door behind her.

Elsa smiled contentedly, even as the door  _clicked_ shut and Anna's footsteps faded into the distance.

_I'm glad we could be on good terms before I leave, too, Anna,_ she thought, staring at the door peacefully, a _nd I'll miss you every second of every day that I'm gone._

The clock struck midnight.


	4. Chapter 3: The Departure

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for the kind reviews and for being patient as we make our way through the exposition-filled, first few chapters to get to the Southern Isles! Slightly shorter one for you this time, but hope you still enjoy it.

# Chapter 3: The Departure

Elsa watched, amazed, as Kristoff loaded her last bag into the cargo hold of the ship—the bag being nearly  _twice_  his size—and easily brushed off the dust that it left on his vest as if the task had been nothing at all. The guards aboard the ship likewise stared at him in stunned silence, and something suggested, by their expressions, that they hadn't thought such feats of strength humanly  _possible_  up until that moment.

 _But then, he_ does  _carry around huge blocks of ice for a living,_ she told herself, her eyes still wide.

Kristoff greeted her wondering gaze with a questioning look.

"Anything else you need help with, Your Majesty?"

She snapped out of her daze to shake her head gently, though a small smile crept onto her lips.

"No—that was the last of the luggage, thankfully," she informed him, and continued more playfully: "But I  _would_ very much like it if you just called me 'Elsa.'"

He blushed at the request, still unused to Elsa speaking with him so informally.

"Uh, um, of course, Your— _Elsa,"_ he corrected himself, fidgeting uncomfortably. "Sorry if I—if I, uh, offended you before."

Elsa stopped herself from laughing at his bashfulness; it was so entirely different from Anna's brash extroversion that it sometimes caused her to wonder how the two had ever gotten together in the first place.

 _He's more like_ me  _in that respect._

"You did no such thing," she reassured him with a soft pat on his bulky arm, and he jumped a little at her touch, smiling nervously.

"I'm glad you're in such a good mood, Your—"

She gave him a good-natured look of warning, and he swallowed.

" _Elsa,"_  he finished, redder than ever. "Because, you know, Anna was saying—well, she was saying that you might not be today, considering . . ."

Elsa's smile dipped at this remark, though she knew he meant well. "Ah, well," she began, trying to sound casual, "I've had a lot of time to prepare for this, as you know, so I—I'm fine, really."

He regarded her sceptically, and she was suddenly afraid that he would press her further on the matter—but, fortunately, whatever question had been forming in his mind was abruptly interrupted by the arrival of Anna as she barrelled onto the scene with Olaf in tow, looking between Kristoff and Elsa with bright eyes.

"So, is everything loaded onto the ship?" she asked, glancing over at the ship behind Kristoff where the crew were struggling to rearrange the same bags which he had so easily tossed in. "Are you all ready to go, Elsa?"

Elsa forced herself to look pleasant. "Yes, everything's loaded," she said simply. "And as for being ready, well," she paused, and her eyes tightened, "I suppose I'm as ready as I'll ever be."

Olaf clutched at her dress with a sad expression. "Do you really have to go, Elsa?"

Elsa froze at the question; seeing her discomfort, Anna stepped in, leaning down to Olaf with an embarrassed look.

"Of  _course_ she has to, Olaf!" she exclaimed, though not with her usual verve. "She can't just  _back out_  now that everything's packed and settled, now can she?"

Olaf's body slumped at this, and his grip on Elsa's dress loosened.

"I guess not," he mumbled unhappily.

Anna placed a comforting hand on his back as she looked back up at her older sister, and Elsa granted her a grateful smile in return, knowing it must have been difficult for her to defend a decision she had so vehemently disagreed with from the outset. She crouched down until she was at eye-level with both the snowman and her sister, and gently nudged Olaf's head up to greet her gaze.

"I'll be back before you know it," she assured him sweetly, and gave him a gentle hug.

He seemed to melt slightly against her embrace, and a contented sigh escaped his mouth. "Good! 'Cause your hugs are the best."

Anna pouted at this. "What about  _mine?"_ she countered with faux jealousy.

Olaf waved her away dismissively, his twig arms remaining comfortably enfolded around Elsa's waist.

"Save yours for the smelly reindeer king," he remarked, and Kristoff frowned at the nick name, making Anna giggle. It seemed that no matter how many times Olaf called him that—even if in jest—the  _Royal Ice Master and Deliverer of Arendelle_  could not tolerate the joke.

She glanced around for a moment, and looked at Kristoff in concern. "Speaking of which—where's Sven?"

The Ice Master jerked his thumb over at the stables across from the dock where the reindeer was happily munching on a pile of carrots, oblivious to the events around him.

"He's right where I left him," he replied disinterestedly, "stuffing his face."

Anna smirked at the comment and stood, facing him. "Aw, Kristoff," she teased, poking his chest, "is that  _jealousy_ I hear?" When he frowned at the suggestion, she continued with a grin: "Should I go get you a bag of carrots, too?"

He grunted in annoyance at the question, crossing his arms moodily.

"I'm not hungry."

Of course, as fate would have it, his stomach growled at that exact moment—and Anna bowled over with laughter at the noise, leaning against his stock-still frame as she wiped tears of amusement from her eyes.

"Oh, Kristoff," she said, and pressed herself against him with a large smile, "you're so  _cute."_

He pinked at her sudden closeness, and at being described with such an . . .  _effeminate_ word, which somehow made him feel more akin to a  _puppy_  than a grown man.

"Whatever," he grumbled under his breath, and she kissed his cheek fondly, watching with satisfaction as his face turned a bright shade of red.

Elsa observed all of this over Olaf's shoulder with a secretive smile, wondering if Anna noticed—or even  _cared_ —that not only her older sister, but nearly  _all_ the eyes of the Queen's and Princess's attendants and advisers were glued to the scene.

_There's no use reminding her of that today, though._

In the past, Elsa would have stepped in, shooting the young couple a warning look or coughing suddenly to get their attention and direct them away from the public eye; these gestures, she had thought, would keep them from being talked about at court.

Of course, she couldn't be there  _every_ time to break up one of Anna and Kristoff's rendezvous, and that meant that, no matter how much she tried, the two would always be a hot topic for gossip, even in spite of her elevating Kristoff's status to the  _Royal_ Ice Master and Deliverer.

Over time, however, she had come to realize that, if Anna and Kristoff could stand the heat of others' stares and whispers—and especially if  _Kristoff_ could, knowing that he was nearly as introverted as she was—then  _she_  could also handle it, and that she should feel reassured in the knowledge that they cared for each other to the extent that they were willing to bear that level of public scrutiny in order to remain together.

"You know, there's an empty stall next to Sven if you guys need a room," Olaf commented dryly as he separated himself from Elsa, who blinked in surprise at the remark.

Anna and Kristoff's faces burned as a few of the surrounding maids and advisers quietly laughed at the snowman's quip, and even Elsa had to hide her grin (though she winked conspiratorially at Olaf later when her sister wasn't looking).

Before Anna could think of something clever to say back, Kai cleared his throat, placing himself squarely in the middle of the group with a raised brow.

"Your Majesty," he began in a more serious way, "I'm very sorry to be breaking up the festivities, but . . ." He glanced in the direction of the ship, and her gaze followed his eyes to the crewmembers on deck, waiting impatiently. "I believe it's best if you go now, while the sun is high."

Her heart  _thumped_  in her chest dully at the suggestion, and she nodded a little, standing up again and patting any dirt from the dock off her dress.

"Of course," she said automatically, and sent an apologetic look up to the crew. She turned to her ladies-in-waiting standing off to the side, and gestured towards the plank. "Gerda, Hilde, Marianne, Nina—would you all please make your way to the ship?"

Gerda nodded and promptly ushered the younger girls onto the ship first. She stood on the plank and gazed back, exchanging looks briefly with Kai; Elsa watched this curiously, wondering what it meant, but it was over almost as soon as it had started, and Gerda boarded the ship without another word spoken.

Kai swallowed as she turned away from him, but he straightened his posture again as Elsa walked past him to stand before Leif, motioning again to the ship.

"Please, go ahead," she said softly, and the older man bowed deeply before he also boarded.

Finally, she made her way back to Anna and Kristoff, a ghost of a smile tracing her pale features.

"Anna, I . . ." she began, but the words seemed lost in her throat as she stared at her sister, whose large, blue eyes were glossed over with a sheen of unshed tears.

 _I'll miss her_ so  _much._

She suddenly enclosed her in a tight embrace, hiding the tears that had started to form in her  _own_  eyes; somehow, it didn't matter that in the past, she had gone weeks and  _months_ at a time without seeing Anna, because things were just . . .  _different,_ now.

_We're not strangers anymore._

Anna hugged her back just as tightly, though she had little to offer by way of reassurances or parting words.

" _Elsa . . ."_

She managed her sister's name through sniffles, burying her head in Elsa's shoulder.

They stayed that way for a while—or at least as long as Elsa felt it was probably appropriate to do so, given the constraints on the time—and when they parted, she finally allowed herself a small smile, giggling along with Anna at their matching red, puffy eyes.

"I thought I told you I didn't want to send you off with  _ugly_  eyes," Anna joked, her brows furrowed sadly.

Elsa smiled. "Sorry," she apologized, wiping away a stray tear from Anna's cheek. "Just got 'caught up in the moment,' I guess."

Anna grinned lopsidedly. "Me too."

Elsa glanced up at Kristoff finally, and felt slightly guilty that he had been standing on the sidelines, ignored, for the majority of this rather intimate, sisterly exchange. She pressed his arm gently, and with a smile, she said:

"You'll look after her, won't you?"

He was about to answer with his standard, "Of course," as he always did to Elsa's requests; but, catching the dirty look Anna shot him, he sighed, and replied in a defeated tone:

"Well, I'll do my best, but . . . you know  _her."_

Elsa shot Anna a knowing smirk at this, but her younger sister pretended not to notice it, jabbing Kristoff lightly in the side.

"That's right," she confirmed with a proud snort, "you'll do your  _best."_

He rolled his eyes at the comment, and Elsa laughed a little. "I'm glad," she said, smiling, and gave both of their arms a final, gentle squeeze as she stepped back, sighing. "Well, I—I'll see you both again soon," she said inelegantly, stumbling over her words. "I'll write to you as soon as I arrive," she said more directly to Anna, and her sister nodded.

" _Stay safe, Elsa,"_  she whispered back, grasping the queen's hand firmly.  _"And_ never  _give in."_

Elsa met Anna's solid gaze with surprise; after holding it for a minute, she finally assented with a strong nod, and gripped her hand back.

"I won't."

* * *

Her head was  **pounding**.

 _These waves are_ killing  _me._

Elsa leaned over the wooden bucket that she had become all too familiar with since her midsized boat had begun its journey from the sunny, steady waters of Arendelle across the choppy sea separating it from its neighbour to the South. Her face was ashen as her arms attempted to steady her body, her hands grasping the sides of the pail hard enough to give her blisters in her palms.

In fact, she'd spent most of that morning picking out the ones she had gotten the night previous, since she had come to realise that the nights proved the worst.

 _At least there are only two left to go—or so they_ say _._

The unforgiving nature of the waters had extended the travel time to over a week when it should have only taken five days; increasingly, she read the delay as a harbinger of things to come when—or, rather,  _if—_ they ever arrived at their destination.

(It didn't help that she was generally terrified by rocky seas ever since her parents' deaths, and so with every severe, sudden shake of the hull, the fear that she, too, would find her way down to a watery grave struck her  _painfully_.)

" _Oh,_  Queen Elsa!" Gerda fussed, pressing a cold towel to the girl's forehead. "We should get you to bed!"

Elsa shook her head with some effort, though she didn't push away Gerda's hand.

"No, I can't," she said weakly, and she winced as she felt a splinter embed itself in her left thumb. "I'll get sick if I stand up right now."

The older woman frowned. "Then I'll have one of the guards carry you there," she said, and started to march towards the door of the private cabin.

Elsa stopped her with a cold hand on her wrist. " _Please,_ Gerda,  **don't** ," she pleaded, and her face paled as a wave of nausea rolled over her. "I'll be fine—I just have to let this pass."

Gerda frowned concernedly, but obeyed, and returned to Elsa's side. She kneeled on the wooden floor next to her queen, and sighed as she continued to wipe away the sweat that collected on her brow, cheeks, and neck.

"It's been such an  _awful_ journey, hasn't it?" she said, downcast. "But, from what the crew have been saying, it seems as though the North Sea is rarely peaceful."

Elsa did her best to listen despite her intense dizziness, thankful, at least, for some kind of distraction from the  _hammering_  sound her brain was making inside of her skull.

"So," she said slowly, trying to breathe, "it's often like this?"

Gerda shrugged as she soaked the towel in a basin of water nearby. "That seems to be the case," she said as she wrung it, and the sounds of the excess droplets hitting the surface of the water were like  _needles_  in Elsa's ears.

Gerda's brow rose in suspicion as she pressed the freshly-soaked towel to Elsa's chest, her eyes closely studying the queen's grim features.

"Now don't you go thinking that this is some kind of . . .  _ill omen,_ or any of that nonsense," she lectured her quietly, frowning. "I won't have my Queen believing in silly superstitions only a few days before she's due to arrive at a foreign court."

Elsa's heart jumped in her chest—whether from the sudden swaying of the ship or from Gerda's surprisingly apt remark, she wasn't sure—and she dry-heaved over the bucket.

Once she had regained her senses enough to form a sentence, she glanced at Gerda exhaustedly.

"But you must admit," she breathed out, panting, "it doesn't  _look_ good."

Gerda sighed, supporting Elsa as her arms shook from the effort of holding her weak body up.

"A rough ocean is a rough ocean, Your Majesty—there's nothing we can do to change that," she said simply, and stared with wise, patient eyes. The look reminded Elsa of Kai. "What's important is that  _you_ know that going in, and that you face it  **without**  fear."

Elsa's eyes widened in surprise, unused to hearing Gerda speak so frankly—and with such  _sage_  advice.

Her lady-in-waiting only smiled at the expression as she wiped the queen's forehead.

"Forgive my forwardness, Your Majesty," she excused herself, and brushed Elsa's stray bang behind her ear. "I know it's not my place to make such comments, but—"

" **No** —you're right," Elsa interrupted, her voice a near-croak. She paused to lick her dry lips, her head still bowed over the rim of the bucket. "I shouldn't be so gloomy, even given—" she breathed shallowly, "even given the current—current  _circumstances."_

Gerda looked unsure as to whether she should smile or be alarmed by the comment, considering how pale Elsa had become; she decided on a third option, and brought a canteen of water to her queen's lips.

"Drink," she said gently.

Elsa only shook her head, her face grey. Gerda frowned, and pressed the canteen more firmly to her mouth.

**"Drink."**

It was a command, that time—and Elsa reluctantly obeyed, swallowing down as much of the lukewarm liquid as she could before she coughed for air, spitting some of the water back into the bucket.

Gerda looked satisfied in spite of the queen's sputtering.

"That's good. Now, if you keep taking small sips, maybe whatever's in your stomach might—"

Elsa threw up.

* * *

The next two days were blissfully calm, and the Queen of Arendelle wondered, absently, if Gerda's words on that night had somehow— _magically,_  perhaps—quelled the raging sea.

It was a silly notion, to be sure, but after a week of on-and-off,  _severe_  motion sickness, Elsa thought she could afford to entertain such frivolous ideas once in a while.

 _I have to while I still_ can, _anyway._

The thought made her jaw clench unconsciously, and she turned away from the wide oceanscape before her. Even though they didn't seem any closer to land than before, the crew had assured her that they would be arriving in just a few hours' time—earlier than expected on account of the improved weather.

Had they not caused her such misery, she would have wished, at that moment, for the rollicking waves to return and delay their arrival again; but, given her apparent inability to handle such turbulence, she thought it was probably best not to wish for anything at all.

Suddenly irritated by the salty smell of the sea all around her, she rose from her seat by the bow of the ship, and two of her attendants rose as well, intending to shadow her as they usually did.

She rose up a hand to stop them. "I'm fine—Marianne, Nina," she made sure to address them by name, and wore a smile for their benefit. "I'm just going to get some rest before we arrive."

They both curtsied and answered, in unison, "Yes, Your Majesty," to which Elsa nodded in acknowledgment before departing.

Even en route to her cabin, she made sure to greet and make pleasantries with the crewmembers and guardsmen, never revealing her apprehension. It was only when she had entered her quarters again, and heard the door  _creak_  shut behind her, that she finally sighed in relief.

_Alone at last._

It was rare that she'd had time to herself over the past week, since her near-constant state of illness had forced Gerda to remain by her side day and night. Not that she minded the woman's presence, of course—she was quiet and diligent in her work, only offering stories or anecdotes when she sensed that Elsa was well enough to respond to them.

In spite of this, there had been so much on Elsa's mind about the trip that she hadn't even  _begun_ to properly contemplate on account of the rough waters—and so many items of official business that she hadn't been able to attend to—that having Gerda around certainly didn't  _help_  her ability to put to use what little concentration she could muster for such matters.

Elsa plopped on the small cot inside the cabin tiredly, feeling as if she hadn't slept in a month (though, in truth, she'd gotten nearly nine hours the previous night). As she adjusted her head on the soft pillow, she held her hands up to the light streaming through the window, and stared at the sky-blue gloves that covered them.

 _I shouldn't be wearing these,_ she thought with a frown, and promptly took them off, throwing them to the side.

She felt more relaxed as her bare fingers soaked in the fresh air streaming in from the window, cracked slightly open; nonetheless, her eyes travelled back to gaze at the gloves lying limply on the floor near the bed.

 _But I'll_ have  _to wear them there._

It was an inevitability that she would have to conceal her powers again, once she was in the Isles. She couldn't afford to antagonise—or intimidate—another potential trading partner, even if it was one that she didn't particularly  _want_  to have in the first place.

Still, the idea of having to wear them again, and for so long— _two weeks!—_ was reprehensible, especially considering how far she thought she had progressed with her self-control.

She suddenly realised, in fact, that her powers had been muted the entirety of the past week, despite the harsh travel and her recurring distress. The more she thought on the reasons as to  _why_ this had been the case, however, the clearer it became that her never-ending nausea had probably cancelled out the effects of the ice.

 _I suppose I can't be vomiting_ and  _creating blizzards at the same time,_ she mused with a frown, and rolled over on her side, turning away from the gloves again.

The solidness of the wooden wall in front of her calmed her thoughts for a moment, and she closed her eyes, feeling as if she could drift off again into sleep.

_Your sister? She returned from the mountain weak and cold._

_She said_ you _froze her heart._

Her eyes opened as if someone had slapped her hard across the face.

 _Why does_ he  _keep showing up in my thoughts?_

The mere memory of his  _face_  was enough to set her on edge, let  _alone_  recollections of his cruel words and deeds, and she wondered if she had made the right choice, all those months ago, in personally ensuring that he was  **not**  imprisoned for his crimes.

 _What was I_ thinking?

She remained baffled, even then, about what  _exactly_  had compelled her to write that letter to the King and Queen of the Isles requesting a change in his sentence. At the time, everyone had called her crazy for doing so—Anna, Olaf, Kai, the Council, her own  _people_ —but news of the traitor's punishment, exile to and hard labour in the unforgiving Vollan Island, the part-farmland, part-penal colony furthest south in the Isles' chain, had been enough to quell most of the misgivings regarding her decision.

Anna, in particular, had taken the longest to come around; but when she finally did, she had actually been somewhat  _enthused_ by the idea that the man who had betrayed her and nearly killed her sister would be toiling away on a dreadful farm somewhere for the rest of his miserable life, thinking it a more fitting end to his dark tale than the cold idleness of a prison cell.

Elsa herself had come to terms with the arrangement quickly enough, and had even forgotten about it almost  _entirely_  once the initial ruckus surrounding the situation had quieted down. But as the months passed and the missives from the Isles suddenly began stacking on her desk, it became harder to simply push the thought of him from her mind—and, worse yet, it became  _impossible_ to contemplate refusing his parents' offer of peace when they raised it on such agreeable terms.

 _And here I am now,_ she thought glumly,  _on my way to meet them._

Somehow, it didn't matter that he was in exile—or, at least, as far out in "exile" as his parents had apparently been willing to send him. Even though she believed the King and Queen (though she wasn't sure  _why_  she did), and believed that she wouldn't see him ever again, much less on  _this_  trip . . . something about the whole arrangement made her uneasy.

 _It's not as if he's going to escape_ just _so he can take revenge on me,_ she reasoned with herself, and sighed audibly.  _He doesn't seem like that kind of person._

She glowered at the thought, and her skin went cold.

 _But I don't know what kind of person he even_ is.

She created a few ice crystals and suspended them mid-air to distract herself from brooding, as that activity seemed a futile one to engage in when she was due to arrive at port so soon. Even this, however, did little to calm her nerves.

 _There's no point in worrying. I'm_ not  _going to see him._

No, her eyes hardened, she wouldn't—but she  _would_ be meeting his twelve older brothers, many of whom, presumably, would share his features.

 _Not to mention . . . the_ Queen _._

Kai's description of her appearance had been stuck in Elsa's mind since the day he'd given her the laundry list of dark stories about the Isles, and she knew, instinctively, that seeing the Queen in person would  _undoubtedly_  be the most painful reminder yet of all the awful events of the last year which she had tried to push to the back of her mind.

_Eyes as bright as emeralds, and hair like maple leaves in autumn._

She suddenly remembered  _his_ face with greater clarity than she would have liked, and—matching it to the picture she had of his mother—she shuddered at the resemblance, realising that it would likely be even  _more_  striking in person.

She only hoped that she could maintain her composure when she was there, standing in front of the King and Queen, with all these thoughts and images racing through her mind on an endless loop. Beyond this, however, she wasn't sure how she could handle  _two weeks_ of such pretend pleasantries, as the idea that she should be accompanying the Queen or  _any_  of her  **brood**  around the castle grounds and into the cities, day in and day out, made her grimace unhappily.

_But I'll have to bear it—for Arendelle._

She swallowed, closed her eyes, and set her lips in a firm line.

 _And for_ myself.


	5. Chapter 4: The Arrival

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a long one, guys—almost 8,000 words. So sit tight, and please enjoy the ride.

# Chapter 4: The Arrival

Gerda lightly shook her, her tone urgent.

"Your Majesty," she said quietly, "I'm sorry to wake you, but . . ."

Elsa groggily shifted in the bed, her eyes half-closed in slumber.

"We . . . we're . . . wait,  _what?"_

Gerda held back a giggle at the confused, embarrassed look that suddenly appeared on the queen's tired features.

"Don't worry, Your Majesty—we still have an hour before we make landing," she assured her, giving Elsa a hand as she struggled to get up. "I wanted to give us enough time to get you ready before then."

Elsa nodded lightly, not quite comprehending the situation. It felt as though she had been asleep for  _days_ instead of just forty minutes—if the clock on the wall was telling the truth, that is.

 _When did I even fall asleep?_ she wondered in bemused silence as the other three ladies-in-waiting entered the room, carrying between them a dress and shoes, makeup, and a washing basin, respectively.

She allowed them, in her half-awake state, to wash and prepare her without complaint, as she needed the time to bring herself, mentally, back to the world of the living. They made quicker work of her than usual, and Elsa had to admit that she was impressed by how soon she had been slipped into the official arrival dress, a lilac-coloured, long-sleeved gown with deep blue panels on the bodice (and the same colour gloves to match).

Nevertheless, it felt  _unbearably_ hot to be wearing that garment on such a warm day, and Elsa continually took great pains to cool herself down without damaging the dress itself.

Once the main portion of the process had been completed, Gerda dismissed the others, attending to the queen's hair. Elsa watched with some distaste as her long braid—which she had kept for the majority of the journey there, since it was more comfortable—was undone and then pinned up into a regal bun, the look bearing an unfortunate resemblance to the one she wore on the day of her coronation.

"Gerda, can you—" Elsa began, unable to look into the mirror any longer, "can you . . .  _change_  it, slightly?"

Gerda glanced at the queen's aggrieved reflection, and then at her handiwork—and she promptly took out the pins in Elsa's hair, looking mortified.

"I'm so sorry, Your Majesty, I—I really didn't mean to—"

"It's fine," Elsa interrupted, half-smiling to reassure her. "I'm just being fussy."

The older woman frowned at this, and gripped Elsa's shoulder affectionately. "No, my Queen—your request is  _perfectly_  reasonable," she said firmly, rearranging the white locks. "I should have known better. Forgive me."

Elsa smiled more genuinely at this. "There's nothing to forgive," she said quietly, and touched Gerda's hand softly. "Nothing at all."

Gerda smiled after a moment as well before focusing on her hair again, holding a chunk of it against Elsa's head briefly.

"I'm sorry to press on you like this, Queen Elsa," she said apologetically, "but I'd like to try something new, here, and it may require a bit more effort than usual."

Elsa felt contented again despite the heaviness of the hair against her skull. "I'm sure it will look wonderful."

Gerda grinned.

"It will be  _fabulous."  
_

* * *

She was surprised by how many of the common people were waiting at the port of Strande Island—and equally by their raucous, enthusiastic reception of the Snow Queen to their warmer shores.

" _Queen Elsa, bless you!"_

" _Long live the Queen of Arendelle!"_

" _Good health and good tidings to you, Queen Elsa!"_

She smiled despite her general feeling of trepidation as she was escorted down the plank onto the dock by her guards, waving good-naturedly to the people on all sides. Leif, Gerda and the other ladies-in-waiting looked similarly dumbfounded by the overwhelmingly earnest greeting, though they, too, were soon smiling and bowing their heads shyly at the attention.

Still, Elsa had to fight the urge to touch her hair, her hand flexing mid-air.

 _It really_ is  _fabulous._

Gerda had done a beautiful twist on her favourite style—a simple braid—by starting it on the top of her head and then working its way down to frame the left side of her face in a flattering, feminine manner. Just  _thinking_  about how wonderful it looked when she had seen it in the mirror a few minutes before made Elsa glow with unusual pride.

"Your Majesty," a man came forward from the front of the crowd, bowing deeply before Elsa, "allow me to introduce myself. I am Prince Ivar of the Southern Isles, serving as a diplomat at the pleasure of Their Royal Majesties King Oskar and Queen Therese." His head remained bowed as he continued: "It's an honour to finally make your acquaintance."

He was the same height as the only  _other_ prince she'd met from the Isles, and wore the same white, ceremonial suit that  _he_ had worn on the night of her coronation ball, though almost nothing else about him reminded her of the traitor.

His hair, for one, was a dark red—nearly brown—and his eyes, though green, were a few shades duskier as well. Between this and the fact that he sported an impressive full beard, spectacles, and a bit of a pot belly, she actually felt somewhat  _reassured_ that, of all the King and Queen's progeny to greet her first, it had been him.

She bowed her head gently to the prince, but did not offer her hand—the lack of this gesture, however, did not seem to surprise nor bother him as he regarded her with a neutral stare.

"Likewise," she answered, if somewhat stiffly, adding: "And I am sorry for the delay to our arrival. The sea was . . .  _unkind_ to us, I'm afraid."

The prince's mouth twitched. "Unfortunately it happens all too often, Your Majesty," he said with the barest hint of sympathy, unsettling her a little. "There's nothing to apologise for, as we always plan for such delays." His back straightened. "Anyway, it's a good thing you arrived today, as it appears that the sea is due to be unquiet for a few more days yet."

Her heart seized a little at this information.

"Unquiet?" she asked, concerned.

_Will my letters get back home to Anna?_

He nodded, though he didn't seem to understand why she looked so worried.

"Yes, Your Majesty," he repeated, "but with any luck, they should calm down again by next week."

She swallowed at this, wanting to press further; but then, seeing how the prince stared at her impatiently, she simply assented with a nod of her own.

_I'll worry about it later._

"Then I am grateful for arriving today as well," she said quickly, and gestured to her side. "Prince Ivar, this is my adviser, Sir Leif. He will be accompanying me on all official business while I am in the Isles."

Ivar nodded, and Leif bowed—but not as deeply, perhaps, as he  _should_  have in the presence of foreign royalty.

"Your  _Highness,"_  he said in an even harder tone than Elsa's, making the prince's eyebrow raise briefly in question.

Elsa shot her adviser a warning look and quickly plastered on a smile, which the prince reciprocated in just as dishonest a manner.

"A  _pleasure_  to meet you as well, Sir Leif," he drawled, and motioned to the small welcoming party from whence he had approached them. "Your Majesty, if you don't mind," he said, maintaining his smiling mask, "there are a few other people I'd like to introduce you to before we proceed to the palace."

She nodded, trying not to become distracted by the cheering crowds around her.

"Of course."

He led her to the four other men standing nearby—all dressed  _identically_  in the same, white suits—and they introduced themselves, one by one.

The first looked remarkably like Ivar, at least in hair and eye colour and general facial features—but he was leaner and fitter, and sported only a moustache.

"Prince Anders of the Southern Isles," he said, and her eyes widened as she looked between him and Ivar with a quirked brow.

"You two are . . ."

"Twins," they said together, and glared at each other in the next moment; this tension, however, only elicited some muffled chuckles from the other men.

"I see," she said, and couldn't help but smile.

_I wonder if they drew straws to decide which one of them would be able to greet me at the docks first._

The second man broke in shortly after. "Prince Kristian," he said informally, and added (after receiving a sharp glare from his older brothers): "Of the Southern Isles, as you might have already guessed."

Her lip twitched in amusement at this remark, though it earned the prince nothing but irritated looks from the others. Comparing him to them, she wondered if he looked more like the King with his light blue eyes, slight physique, and plain, shaggy, long brown hair tied back into a ponytail.

"A pleasure," she replied promptly, nodding.

"Tor—it's your turn, now," Kristian said, nudging the man by his side.

The third looked up through his long, red-brown bangs, bored—apparently, staring at his feet had been more interesting than  _properly_  greeting the Queen of Arendelle—and he managed a slight bow, mumbling moodily:

"Prince Tor. Southern Isles."

" _Why_ did we bring him along, again?" Kristian remarked dryly, and received dagger-like stares from the rest of his brothers in return. He glanced up at Elsa at this, and reddened. "Apologies, Your Majesty."

She shook her head, meaning to reassure him that she didn't mind—but was interrupted when the fourth coughed, obviously trying to draw attention away from the previous "disappointing" brothers.

"Your Majesty," he said reverently, and bowed the deepest of all the princes thus far, "I am Prince Adrian of the Southern Isles and a member of the Royal Guard, and it is my great honour to meet you here today."

She regarded this last brother with the most interest, if only because he looked so _different_  from all the others before him—and because of how  _forward_  he had been in his introduction compared to the rest.

 _He's . . ._ handsome _._

He was, objectively, beautiful: tall, with an athletic physique, short, strawberry-blonde hair a few shades lighter than Anna's, and sea-green eyes that swirled and drew her in like the ocean itself. Combining these features with his bolder manner, it seemed likely to her that he was popular with the ladies at court.

Somehow, Elsa felt comfortable in acknowledging that he was an attractive man; she supposed it was because he was attractive in a way that was entirely different from the way that his  _unfortunate_ youngest brother was.

 _. . . the_ paternity _of the King's sons._

Kai's words suddenly rang in her head as she regarded the prince, and she only hoped that the glimmer of realisation that had flashed across her eyes had not been seen by the man before her.

"Your Highness," she acknowledged, and nodded.

He continued after a slightly dramatic pause, meeting her gaze. "I wanted to offer you, in person, my  _deepest_ apologies on behalf of our youngest brother, who  _disgraced_  our family and this great country with his crimes. Please be assured," he said, his tone serious, "that he is now paying the price for them."

Elsa wanted to frown at the reminder, having just been able to forget, if only for a moment, about the thirteenth son in observing the dynamic between the princes—but she forced herself to be polite.

"Thank you," she said, her voice betraying her discomfort. "I appreciate that."

Noticing her unease, the prince sought to change the topic— _quickly_.

"I don't mean to be rude, but, I  _must_  say, Your Majesty," he started again, his eyes magnetic, "you are even more beautiful in person than I could have ever imagined."

Elsa might have reddened at this compliment, drawn in by his unwavering stare as she was; but Anders cleared his throat suddenly and glowered at Adrian before turning to Elsa, his expression all business.

"Your Majesty," he spoke as formally as he could to contrast his younger brother, "if you don't mind, I think it would be best if we continued on to the palace."

When she glanced back out of the corner of her eye at the ship from whence she'd arrived, he continued:

"Not to worry, Your Majesty—our men will assist your crew in unloading the luggage from the ship, and deliver it to the palace shortly after we arrive there."

She nodded and repeated "Of course" for what felt like the thirtieth time that day, and then followed the brothers and their accompanying protection—a group of Royal Guardsmen, she presumed—to the carriages that awaited them at the entrance to the port.

Elsa waved and smiled gently to the crowd as she moved across the dock, though the heat of the Isles' sun made her want to do nothing more than encase herself in a block of ice. Even on the hottest of summer days in Arendelle, it never became like  _this,_ and she suddenly understood—and secretly  _envied_ —how some of the men in the crowd could go without shirts.

 _I'd do_ anything _to at least take off these_ gloves.

After what seemed like an eternity, she felt herself take one of her men's hands and step into an open-air carriage, sitting with a small sigh of relief.

To her surprise, then, something—or, rather, some _one—_ suddenly nudged her in the side, and she looked down, blinking.

Gerda stared back up at her, handing her a fan. "It's not much, my Queen, but since we're travelling separately, I thought it best to—"

"Thank you, Gerda," Elsa said appreciatively and carefully opened the fan. "I assure you it will be put to good use, and I'll see you again once we reach the palace."

Gerda smiled tiredly and nodded before trudging off to the carriage prepared for her and the other girls. Elsa looked after her with some concern, knowing that the older woman probably wasn't handling the heat very well herself.

"Always plans ahead, that Gerda," Leif remarked as he took his seat next to her, his forehead sweating. He turned to Prince Ivar as the man boarded the carriage, sitting across from the Queen. "How far to the palace, Your Highness?"

Ivar took a pocket-watch out from his jacket, glancing at it briefly. "No more than twenty minutes, Sir Leif," he said quickly, eyeing the man's obvious discomfort expressionlessly.

Leif nodded, looking relieved. "That's good to hear."

Anders climbed in last, sitting across from Leif, and exchanged a look that Elsa didn't  _quite_  understand with his twin brother.

"Are we ready to leave?"

Ivar eyed the line of carriages behind them—and then at the one next to theirs, carrying the rest of the princes—and nodded curtly, tapping the driver once on the shoulder.

Elsa jumped a little in her seat as the ride began bumpily, transitioning between the wooden planks of the docks to the stone road leading to the palace. She couldn't complain, however, about the bit of breeze that swept by her, and Leif seemed positively  _blithe_ with happiness at the brief respite from the incessant heat.

Anders, seeing the adviser's weariness, pulled out a small fan from inside of his jacket.

"Please, use mine," he offered, his smile small and tight. "I'm used to the heat."

Leif hesitated for a moment, staring at the fan uncertainly. It wasn't until his queen gave him a slight nod of reassurance that he finally accepted it, and thanked the prince quietly for the gesture.

In truth, Elsa was silently observing the interactions between the brothers with a cold kind of fascination, her curiosity unexpectedly piqued by the quirks she had noticed about each one so far—and, more generally, by the fact that  _none_  of them seemed bothered by the intense heat in spite of the fact that they were dressed in full suits.

Ivar, for one, seemed to be the most imperious of the five she had met, with little desire to engage in the kinds of pleasantries which she would have assumed his occupation normally called for. That much had been obvious, anyway, from the way in which he had  _not_ offered his fan—which she was  _sure_ he had stowed away in the exact same place as his brother's had been—to Leif.

The thought made her gaze flutter over to Prince Anders, who quickly averted his eyes from hers out of respect; and that gesture, though fleeting, had the strange effect of  _endearing_  him more to her than his snobbish twin.

_Perhaps he's one I can trust._

She dismissed the idea just as soon as it had come to mind, realising that such a judgment was  _far_ too premature.

 _Still—he_ did  _offer Leif that fan._

She frowned behind her own fan, and flapped it more rapidly against her heated face.

 _And_ he  _saved you from the duke's men before later attempting to_ **cut your head off** _._

Her frown deepened.

_Kindness is merely a means to an end for these people._

She moved on to the carriage they shared the wide, stone path with, and assessed—as subtly as she could—the other three (whose names she was already forgetting).

"The brown-haired one is Kristian," Anders said suddenly, "the red-haired one Tor, and the blonde Adrian." His small smile returned as she stared at him in surprise. "I thought I saw confusion in your look, Your Majesty," he explained. "Forgive me for being presumptuous."

 _So they're watching_ me _in the same way,_ she mused, and paused in her fanning, placing the instrument in her lap with a matching, tiny smile.

"Your instincts were correct—and I thank you for the reminder, Prince Anders."

Ivar's lip curled ever-so-slightly in irritation at this exchange, but Elsa ignored him, turning her gaze instead to the wide-open countryside surrounding them, green as far as the eye could see with bright flowers scattered throughout the fields. It reminded her of the forests at the foot of the mountains in Arendelle, but it had a fragrance about it—an  _aroma_ —that intoxicatingly filled the humid air.

"It's beautiful," she said gently, and closed her eyes when a breeze came by, the scent filling her senses.

"But  _hot_ ," added Kristian from the other carriage, and she looked up, taken aback by the comment.

He grinned sheepishly at her. " _Too_ hot."

Tor—the moody one from earlier, if Elsa was remembering it correctly—frowned at his brother.

"No one's laughing, Kristian," he remarked sourly. "So just be silent, for  _once."_

 **"Tor,"** Adrian rebuked him with a glare, "you're in the presence of the  _Queen."_

The young man went quiet again, though he sulked at being shut up. Adrian, likewise, seemed unhappy—no doubt because he had been sat with his brothers instead of next to the Queen he was so  _blatantly_ trying to charm.

She held back a smirk at the display, and her gaze returned to greet Anders's.

"If you don't mind me asking," she said inquisitively, "why  _specifically_  were the five of you sent to greet me at port?"

Ivar answered before Anders had even opened his mouth to speak, obviously annoyed that the Queen had given his twin so much of her attention.

"Anders and I are the two top trade officials in the kingdom, and so it was natural for Their Majesties to call upon us for our services in this instance," he replied succinctly. "As for the others," he began with a frown (and Elsa somehow enjoyed seeing this rare display of emotion from him), "there are . . .  _various_ reasons."

Anders filled in the blanks. "Prince Adrian is here as a representative of the Royal Guard, as he mentioned," he said, "and—though it may not seem like it—Princes Kristian and Tor are serving on behalf of the Royal Navy and Army, respectively."

Elsa nodded, and suddenly— _undoubtedly—_ she saw what they were trying to do.

 _They want me to see that they're not like_ him, she thought, just barely maintaining her placid expression.  _That they're all dutifully employed at home, and have no intention of going off to foreign lands and attempting to conquer them and kill their princesses and_ **queens** _—_

"And the other princes?" she asked, quelling the dizziness that had temporarily taken hold of her. "Will I be meeting them at the palace?"

Anders nodded. "Yes, Your Majesty, along with the King and Queen."

She smiled rigidly.

"Good. I'm looking forward to that."

Leif sent her a quizzical look from the side, but she didn't meet it.

She couldn't let these princes,  _his_ brothers, see even the  _smallest_ pressure point in her.

They sat for the remainder of the journey in silence, and she was determined to enjoy the quiet while it lasted, taking in the sights. Soon enough, they were near the city limits, but the carriages didn't pause as they neared the gates, since the guardsmen had been notified well in advance of Queen Elsa's arrival and were already raising them.

As the carriages proceeded onto the main, bumpier street of the capitol, Elsa found it more difficult to maintain a pleasant look; the cheering, long lines of people lining the road, however, made it impossible for her not to at least  _try_.

"They knew we would be arriving today, even with the delay?" Leif asked curiously, smiling on-and-off at the crowds.

"Prince Kristian made a correct estimate of your arrival date based on his observations out at sea a few days ago," Ivar answered disinterestedly. "Their Majesties thus timed the welcoming festivities according to his prediction."

Leif looked mildly impressed by this. "He is the one in the Navy, yes?"

"Correct," Ivar said dryly, looking out impassively onto the throngs of people.

The prince's tone, if nothing else, ended the conversation at that point.

Elsa had been too busy trying to absorb the look of the city to pay much attention to the exchange, her eyes distracted by all the colourful shop stalls and welcome banners they hung in her honour, and her nose by the multitude of (mostly) good smells which emanated from them. The capitol seemed so different from Arendelle's, and yet  _not_  all at once: the style of dress was lighter and looser with brighter colours on account of the hotter weather, but the people looked fundamentally similar. The architecture of the buildings was likewise not so different from home, though everything seemed far more cramped and pushed together than in the spacious, quaint villages she was accustomed to seeing in her own kingdom.

 _I'm sure it only makes it_ hotter _than it already is,_ she thought, noting how drenched most of the people looked, even in their thin clothes.

The princes in their carriages, too—indomitable to the heat as they had made themselves appear, at first—were all beginning to look  _extremely_ uncomfortable with the higher temperature inside the city walls, though all refused to be the first to take out their fans.

She cooled her skin just enough not to raise suspicion from the other passengers, affixing a diplomatic smile in place just in time to greet the last of the crowds en route to the palace.

Her eyes widened as she set her eyes on it from afar, unable to help but admire the structure.

It was nestled atop a verdant hill overlooking the city below, a smooth, paved path leading to its gates, and its exterior was constructed of an equally smooth, beautiful white stone, the colour nearly blinding her under the clear, cloudless sky above.

 _It's so . . ._ clean  _compared to the town._

She supposed that shouldn't have surprised her, knowing what little she did about the Isles and their history. From the books she had read and from her own experience with  _certain_  residents, it seemed appropriate that those polished, brazenly bright walls could—and probably  _did_ —hide dark secrets within them.

 _They say that she—that she_ killed _someone close to her: a brother, sister . . . even her_ mother or father.

She clenched her jaw to keep from shuddering as they passed through the gates, and as they reached the shadow of the castle, her heart  _thumped_  with dread.

"Your Majesty," Ivar interrupted her anxious thoughts, holding out his hand, "we've arrived."

She blinked at him before realising that the carriage had stopped.

 _When did_ that  _happen?_

She looked up to take in the sight of the impossibly high ceiling above the main entrance, and found herself wondering how men could have gotten up there and built the structure (not to mention how they had managed to attach the fabulously sparkling, ornate glass chandelier which hung from it); and as her eyes travelled the length of the room, she marvelled at its wide expanse, and speculated, distractedly, on just how far down the hallways on either side of her extended.

Nonetheless, Elsa soon returned to form and took the prince's gloved hand without another second's hesitation, stepping down as gracefully as was expected of her. From there, he allowed Leif to take over, and she gratefully glanced at her adviser, who nodded tiredly in return, too worn out from the heat to say anything.

 _I guess this power_ does _come in handy from time to time,_ she thought as she chilled herself again, tucking her arm gently in his.

She glanced to the side to see, with relief, that the others had made it to the castle safely as well, and she noted—with faint amusement—that the three brothers travelling in the other carriage all looked close to collapsing as a result of their stubbornness.

_Serves them right._

By comparison, Gerda and her other ladies-in-waiting seemed to be coping as best as they could, though thankfully, Elsa's guardsmen had shooed them away from the incoming luggage, insisting that the women take a breather. And although Gerda had protested this at first, she was soon too preoccupied with gawking at the palace—along with the other girls—to put up much of a fight.

Elsa only allowed herself the briefest glimpses of her surroundings as her back straightened, determined to appear as regal and poised as possible before she met the  _rest_ of the ruling family. She similarly set her expression into a stoic façade as she and Leif proceeded to meet Anders in the centre of the hall, ignoring the hustle and bustle about them.

"Your Majesty—if you'll follow me," he said politely, and gestured ahead, "I will show you to the King and Queen."

She just barely suppressed a grin as she nodded in courteous understanding.

 _So one of the twins gets to meet me at the ship, and the other gets to introduce me to the King and Queen?_ She glanced at Anders at her right side, but made sure not to look too long.  _Perhaps he didn't draw the short straw after all._

It wasn't a long walk before they reached the grand, oaken doors to the throne room, and in fact, Elsa found herself biting back a frown, since she'd hardly had the time she'd been  _hoping_  for to prepare herself for that moment.

 _I thought it would take at_ least  _five minutes._

She looked down briefly in surprise when she felt a soft squeeze on her arm from Leif—and she realized, with some dismay, that her hands were  _ice cold_  within the gloves.

He sent her a reassuring look, but it was a hard one, and suddenly Elsa was glad that she had chosen him, of all her advisers, to accompany her exclusively on this trip. He wasn't the  _easiest_  man to get along with—nor the most compromising, when he really believed in doing things a certain way—but he had a  _conviction_  about his every action and gesture which she strove to imitate under such trying circumstances.

And in that moment, as the guards opened the doors and revealed the entire court of the Southern Isles filling the sides of the room—and King Oskar, Queen Therese, and the rest of the princes at the head—she was more thankful than ever for Leif's heavy arm secured around hers.

_Lend me your strength._

**"Your Royal Majesties,"** Prince Anders declared in a booming tone,  **"it is my honour to present to you: Queen Elsa of Arendelle!"**

A chorus of cheers and claps from the surrounding courtiers accompanied this announcement, and Elsa gently withdrew her arm from her councillor's, taking a few paces forward to stand alone, silent and proud, in the middle of the long, dark blue carpet leading to the King and Queen, now standing from their thrones to greet her.

Her ice-blue eyes set in a steely fashion on the front of the room, and she wore a cool, tactful smile.

_Conceal, don't feel._

In spite of its ignominious origins, it seemed that that particular mantra  _did_ have the unique effect of calming her down; and as she automatically slid her hand primly into Anders's, it repeated itself over and over again in her head until she felt the corners of her lips begin to  _stiffen_.

_Conceal, don't feel._

_Conceal, don't feel._

_Conceal, don't_ **fee** _—_

"Your Majesty."

She locked stares with the Queen—and the Queen's eyes, they were . . .

His  _eyes._

She held back a shudder.

 _His_ emerald  _eyes._

She wore a long, ceremonial white gown with natural motifs of flowers and leaves embroidered throughout with a pale green thread, and the light colours were a stark contrast to her burnished, almost  _glittering_ auburn hair. It was collected neatly behind her head in a large, complex, braided bun, but Elsa supposed, when unbound, that it could swallow the world whole.

The woman and her husband curtsied and bowed deeply, and at length—deeper and longer, she guessed, than they would have done for any other visiting monarch—and Elsa repaid the gesture, though for a far shorter time . . . and in a far shallower manner.

"Your Majesties," she returned, looking between the two, "thank you for receiving me."

The King bowed again, and the Queen nodded. "It is our honour to receive you, Your Majesty," he said in a gravelly voice, "and we are so very grateful for your visit."

The King was dressed in much the same outfit as his sons, though with a few more flourishes—some military ribbons and medallions pinned to his chest here, a gold watch and crown there—but he did not cut anywhere  _near_  as striking a figure as his much younger wife, his advanced age clearly showing in his wrinkled, tired, and sallow features.

Nevertheless, there was a genuineness to his gratitude that she had not detected in some of the other members of the royal family with whom she'd had the  _pleasure_ of meeting so far (the Princes Ivar and Tor came to mind), and Elsa couldn't help but appreciate it.

She nodded to the King, her lips relaxing. "I apologise for my delay in arriving."

The Queen answered this time, and her voice was smooth— _dulcet,_ even—in comparison to her husband's.

"We feared you might be late in coming after our son, Prince Kristian, returned with the report on the turbulent sea," she said sympathetically, nodding in Kristian's direction, "so it is  _we_ who should apologise for the delay, Your Majesty—not  _you."_

Elsa smiled a little at this remark—whether because she had to for propriety's sake, or because she was entertained by the farcicalness of the entire exchange, she wasn't sure—and her eyes betrayed a hint of mirth.

"Neither of us can control the weather, Your Majesty," she quipped lightly. "We can only be thankful when it does not prevent us from reaching our destinations."

The Queen's eyes gleamed with unbidden interest, and Elsa's hands tensed.

 _Those eyes._ His  _eyes._

"You're quite right, Your Majesty," she said, "and so I am thankful that through storm, wind, and rain, you have arrived safely at our door." She glanced briefly behind Elsa. "And who, may I ask, is this fine gentleman accompanying you?"

Elsa gestured for Leif to draw closer. "This is Sir Leif of Arendelle," she introduced civilly. "He is here to advise me on all official matters which we may discuss during this visit."

Leif bowed, and he seemed genuinely taken in by the beauty of the Queen.

"Your Majesties," he said, and his voice rumbled in his chest.

The King and Queen nodded in a friendly manner. "Sir Leif," she acknowledged with a small smile, though her look suddenly grew serious, and—upon seeing the change in mood—the King likewise shifted entirely in countenance, and bowed his head gravely.

"Before we can proceed any further, Your Majesty, I'm afraid there is something we  _must_  address."

Elsa's heart clenched.

 _Him. They have to address_ him,  _don't they?_

"It is, of course, the matter of our son—the traitor Hans, formerly a Prince of these Southern Isles—and the grievous wrongs which he committed against you, your family, and your great country of Arendelle," the Queen recited, the speech practiced but oddly heartfelt. She paused for effect before continuing, and finally met Elsa's detached gaze. "As you know, Your Majesty," she spoke slowly, giving each word due weight, "the traitor's crimes were such that, under our laws, the punishment would have been a lifetime of imprisonment in the palace dungeons.

 _However,"_ she continued—and Elsa noticed, interestedly, that there was the smallest hint of . . .  _respect?_ in the Queen's eyes, "we received a request from Her Majesty, Queen Elsa of Arendelle, to alter the sentence to exile and hard labour, and so the traitor was sent to Vollan Island, our kingdom's harshest penal camp, to live out the rest of his days in respect of the Queen's wishes."

Elsa remained rigid and watchful as the King picked up where his wife left off— _did they practice this? They must have,_ she guessed—though he did not raise his eyes to hers as the Queen had.

"And as we have communicated in our correspondence with you, Your Majesty," he said austerely, "the traitor remains on that island at present, with no opportunity for escape or vengeance. Therefore," he concluded with a heavy voice, "while we cannot  _ever_  hope to make up for his crimes against you and your people, we hope that you may at least rest assured that he does not pose  _any_  threat to you during your stay here—and that, unlike the traitor, we harbour  _no_  ill intentions towards you, nor would we dare to disrespect or cause you discomfort in any way."

She bowed her head lightly at this reassurance. "I thank you for that, Your Majesties," she acknowledged, "and I hope that, during my visit, we may be able to move past this and build a better future together."

The reply brought with it rousing applause from the surrounding crowds, and the Queen looked suitably impressed as well, curtsying in thanks.

 _Not that I care what_ she  _thinks,_ Elsa thought stubbornly, plastering on a polite smile.

 _She's just_ his  _mother, after all._

"And so we shall strive to make this visit as productive and enjoyable for you as we can, Your Majesty," she returned with her own smile—a charming one, albeit with shades of  _grey_. "I hope you'll find that we've provided you with a full schedule whilst you are here, with no time left to linger on the past."

Elsa only managed a nod at this, for although the remark was meant to be good-spirited—and, indeed, the Queen's tone had been unusually inspired in delivering it—there was something about it that made Elsa's stomach  _turn._

 _. . . with no time left to_ linger _on the past_.

It sounded so foreboding, when she it replayed in her mind—almost like a  _warning._

 _Don't mention it, Your Majesty—don't even_ think  _about it._

Her lips pursed in unease.

_The past is in the past._

"Please, let me formally introduce our sons to you, Your Majesty," the King cut through her thoughts, guiding her to the line of men standing by the Queen. "First is our oldest, Prince Magnus, General of the Royal Army of the Southern Isles and a member of my Council."

Magnus bowed stiffly.

"Your Majesty," he said quietly.

_Light brown hair. Blue eyes. Bearded. Tall. Serious-looking._

She nodded.

 _We shouldn't_ linger,  _Elsa._

"Next is our second-oldest, Prince Fredrik, Captain of the Royal Guard."

Fredrik bowed, and his eyes looked sharply down on her.

"Pleasure."

 _Dark blonde hair. Blue-green eyes. Taller than Magnus. Clean, but arrogant-looking. Possibly_. . . illegitimate _._

She nodded.

 _You may rest assured, Your Majesty, that he does not pose any_ threat _to you during your stay here._

"Third and fourth here are Princes Ivar and Anders, our kingdom's two best diplomats and also two of my brightest councillors—you've been acquainted with them already, I believe?"

"Yes," she replied, and she wondered if she was smiling like she was supposed to be as the Princes bowed in unison.

 _He can't hurt you; don't be_ troubled.

"Fifth is Prince Mathias, a captain in the Royal Army where he serves alongside his brother, Magnus."

Mathias bowed, and his brow was dark.

"Your Majesty."

 _Black hair. Brown eyes. Lightly bearded. Doesn't want to be here. Most_ certainly  _illegitimate._

She nodded.

 _We harbour no_ ill intentions _towards you—we wouldn't_ dare _to cause you discomfort_.

"Our sixth is Prince Harald, who left us to live on Flakstad Island with his Annette," the King noted with some faux disappointment, a note of fondness in his voice.

"I didn't  _leave_ you, Father," Harald corrected him lightly, but there was a hint of a smile on his lips. He turned to Elsa with a bow. "Annette is my wife, Your Majesty. You will meet her later this evening, I'm sure."

_Brown hair. Hazel eyes. Shorter than the others; rounder, too. But also pleasanter._

She nodded, and was confident that she looked agreeable this time.

"I'd be happy to meet her."

 _Why do they think I'm still so_ afraid?

The King smiled at the exchange before moving on. "And again, you've met the seventh, Prince Kristian," he said, and patted his son's shoulder gently. "A very capable shipbuilder, though he's trained as a naval engineer."

Kristian reddened at the compliment, looking bashful. "Father, you'll make the others look bad if you tell the Queen that they only know  _one_ trade," he remarked, and glanced at Elsa with a grin, bowing. "Your Majesty."

Elsa observed the barely-held back (or, in some cases, fully on display) scowls of the other princes, though she hardly cared for their rivalries then.

 _Do they think I'm_ weak?

"My eighth and ninth are also twins—Princes Emil and Henrik," the King continued, and to these two he seemed the most partial thus far. "They're serving as the Royal Chaplains."

The two, like Ivar and Anders before them, bowed simultaneously.

"Your Majesty," they said at the same time, earning some sniggers from up and down the line.

_Dark brown hair. Blue eyes. Tall, pretty. Clean-cut. Their father's spitting image(s). Likely popular with girls at court._

She nodded to both in turn.

 _Leave it behind, Elsa. Don't try and_ stir up  _bad memories._

The King sounded tired by this point, and after nine sons, Elsa couldn't blame him.

"You've met our tenth," he said, "Prince Adrian, in the Royal Guard alongside Fredrik."

Adrian bowed deeply—again, the deepest of  _any_  of his brothers—and his eyes were just as arresting as before.

"Your Majesty," he said, and looked as if he were fighting the urge to take her hand and kiss it (as she was sure he was wont to do).

 _Again,_ definitely  _illegitimate._

This time, there was no hint of a blush in her cheeks.

"Sir," she replied, though her mind was elsewhere.

 _There's no need to_ worry  _yourself over it._

"And, finally," the King concluded, "Princes Tor and Johannes, Army private and Naval officer, respectively."

Johannes looked offended at the King's sudden foregoing of individual introductions—or perhaps he was more upset at being lumped in with Tor, whose listless expression showed no sign of caring one way or the other about how he was being introduced nor  _who_  was doing the introducing—but he bowed nonetheless.

"Your Majesty," he ground out, annoyance lacing his tone, and he elbowed Tor, who bowed and mumbled something—probably "Your Majesty," too, but she couldn't be sure—under his breath.

_The self-centred one with blonde hair and brown eyes . . . probably illegitimate, too._

She nodded again to both, but said nothing.

 _What's done is_ done,  _Your Majesty._

Her jaw locked.

 _Then why doesn't it_ feel  _that way?_

" _Well,_ now that's settled," the Queen suddenly cut in, directing Elsa's attention away from the end of the line with a thinly-concealed glare at her youngest sons, "how about we continue with a tour of the palace? That will give the servants plenty of time to set up your accommodations in the meantime. Ivar, Anders, if you would," she gestured for the twins to come over, "join us at the lead. Fredrik, Adrian, direct the Royal Guard accordingly. And as for the  _rest_  of you," she said, a slight edge to her tone, "please, follow us through to the—"

**"Wait."**

_Why are you always so_ afraid?

The Queen and King and all their sons stared; the courtiers stared;  _everyone_ stared.

What _are you afraid of?_

"I—Your Majesties," she began, though her throat felt as if it were closing, "I have a . . .  _request_  to make, if you would allow it."

 _What are you_ doing,  _Your Majesty?_

The Queen raised a curious, auburn eyebrow, and the King his grey one.

"Anything, Your Majesty," he said after a moment, and she swallowed.

 _Don't you understand, Elsa? What's done is_ done.

"I—"

 _What are you_ thinking?

"I . . . I would like to—"

 _What are you_ saying?

"—formally request—"

 _Stop this, Elsa. Stop this_ now.

"—that the traitor, formerly Prince Hans—"

 _The bad memories, Elsa, don't you remember how_ bad  _they were—_

"—be permitted to return to Strande Island—"

 _The sword, the swing, the blizzard, his_ **grin** _—_

"—for the duration of my visit to the Southern Isles."

A flurry of gasps, and then silence.

Deep, heavy,  _silence._

 _If only there was someone out there who loved you,_ Elsa.

The King was the first to speak, and even then, his voice was hushed in shock.

"But—but— _Your Majesty,_ I don't understand . . ."

Elsa stood straight as an arrow, her hairs on end.

"If he remains in exile during my visit," she said coolly, hardly aware that her hands had gone numb, "then I believe it will have been a missed opportunity to  _fully_ come to terms with the past."

Never  _give in, Elsa._

Her lip trembled, but only for a second. "I believe it is  _imperative_ that he return—not only so that I may see that he has understood his misdeeds and is contrite for them, but also—" she paused, and looked straight at the Queen, "but also so that I may  _personally_ be able to put his actions behind me, and move forward with confidence."

 _I'm_ not _afraid._

She was conscious enough to pause the trails of ice that travelled up the lengths of her arms beneath the dress, and to hold the Queen's stare all the while in the choking silence.

"I understand your wishes, Your Majesty, truly I do," the King broke in finally, his expression distraught, "but I really  _must_  dissuade you from this idea. It may prove unwise . . ."

The flame-haired woman softly glided over until she was by her old husband's side again; once there, she pressed his decrepit hand expertly in hers, and he gazed at her as if for guidance, trailing off mid-sentence. She sent him a reassuring smile back, and her thumb traced a slow circle over his gloved hand.

And it was there, in that tiny circle, that Elsa saw her influence for the first time—her real, palpable  _power—_ and it made her shudder.

"Forgive us, Your Majesty," she said in her most humble of tones, "for we do not mean to question your motives, nor to deny  _any_ request that you should make at court."

Her gaze tightened in concern, but Elsa detected something else behind it—a hidden nod of acknowledgment, perhaps, that she wished for Elsa to dissuade them from dissuading  _her._

"But my husband, the King, expresses, I think, the concerns of  _all_ of us here today that this  _particular_ request may cause you undue distress."

 _Let sleeping dogs_ lie, _Your Majesty._

Elsa's eyes never dropped from hers. "And I respect those concerns wholeheartedly," she said, though she doubted her own sincerity. "But I must make this unreasonable request of you all nonetheless, to put my own mind at ease."

 _I won't live in fear of_ him.

Thick, impenetrable,  _silence._

"We understand," the King said after a time, but his disappointment was profound. "And we will comply with your wishes, to the best of our abilities."

Elsa's smile was thin.

"Thank you, Your Majesties," she said, "and I trust that, when the traitor is returned to the main island," she added, "he will be kept under constant supervision—not only in my presence, but at  _all_  other times as well."

The Queen's look was sobering. "We would not  _dream_ of allowing him to set foot in the palace under any other circumstances."

Elsa nodded, and this time, her curtsy was deep—and  _long._

"Thank you," she replied, and her blue eyes finally closed.

 _I'm not afraid of you,_ **Hans**.


	6. Chapter 5: The Chair

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A shorter chapter for you guys. More talking to princes. Plus prince family drama! And a lot of Elsa agonising over her decision about a certain exiled thirteenth brother. So, you know … the usual. I also wanted to note that some of the italicised lines of Elsa's internal monologue do not always represent direct quotes of other characters from earlier chapters - rather, they are more like what she thinks she remembers them saying, or imagines them as having said, as we can all be quite unreliable narrators in our own stories, I believe.
> 
> I'm curious to know what you guys think about the princes and the King and Queen, so let me know in the reviews. (Speaking of which, I did a drawing of Queen Therese around the age of her coronation, which you'll find here: http://calenheniel.deviantart.com/art/Queen-Therese-of-the-Southern-Isles-448552686)

# Chapter 5: The Chair

Gerda prepared Elsa for the first welcoming banquet and ball in silence for a while before she spoke.

"You know, Your Majesty," she began slowly, and a single, questioning eyebrow arose on her tired features, "when I said you should 'face this without fear,' I didn't think you'd take my suggestion quite this . . .  _far."_

Elsa's eyes sunk at the remark, and she held in a sigh.

"It's not—" she began hesitantly, and rested her arms on the dresser in front of her. "It's just something I  _had_  to do."

Gerda frowned at the reply—it was probably too short and too  _vague_  for her liking—but the displeased expression didn't last, and the older woman sighed deeply as she pinned the last strands of her queen's white hair into the large, ceremonial bun she had crafted.

She patted Elsa's shoulders gently. "Perhaps it is, Your Majesty," she said resignedly, "but I can't help but feel  _nervous_  about him being near you again."

Elsa looked at Gerda in the mirror. "I know—and it's not as if  _I'm_  not nervous, myself," she admitted, and lightly touched the woman's hand in assurance. "But I . . . I don't want to be  _afraid_  anymore."

Her gaze hardened.

"I  _can't_ be afraid anymore."

Gerda merely nodded at this before glancing around the room, her frown returning.

"Still, to put you in that  _scoundrel's_ old quarters! I know it's meant as some sort of . . .  _insult_  to him, but it just seems so—so—"

Elsa pressed her hand again, though a frown touched her own lips at the reminder.

"I know, and frankly," she said, her brow furrowed, "I don't really like the arrangement myself." She sighed after a moment. "But in  _their_  eyes," she continued, "they see it as a gesture of friendship, I suppose."

 _More like an appeal to my vanity_ ,  _or at least what they_ think  _my "vanity" even_ is, Elsa thought, her lips pursed in irritation.

Gerda huffed at the idea. "Funny way of showing 'friendship,'" she remarked as she gestured for Elsa to stand again so she could dress her in the dark blue gown selected for the evening. "More like rubbing salt in the wound, if you ask  _me."_

Elsa's gaze wandered up and around the room at this comment, distracting herself from Gerda's fussing over her appearance (which had become worse on account of her annoyed state); and upon inspecting the quarters again, she recalled how she had come to learn who their former occupant had been with narrowing eyes.

— _four hours earlier_ —

"Ah, here we are!"

Elsa looked ahead to where the Queen gestured, and summoned up just enough energy to look curious.

She, Leif, Gerda and the other girls had been on a tour of the palace for over two hours by then, and she truthfully had little patience left after visiting everywhere from the kitchens to the servants' quarters to the  _fourth_  drawing room to the massive library and attached study chamber.

 _Did we really_   _have to see_ all  _of that?_

It didn't help that she felt somewhat queasy—or at least  _unsettled_ —after her little "display" in the throne room earlier, since nearly every other thought which had come to her mind since then had been one of panicked squawking to take back her request for the traitor's return.

_But what's done is done . . . isn't it?_

"These are your quarters, Your Majesty," the Queen continued as two guards posted themselves on either side of the doors. "As you can see, you're quite close to mine and the King's residence, so should you need to speak with one or  _both_  of us," she went on pleasantly, "you may do so at any time quite easily." She waved behind her towards two other doors down the hall opposite from them. "Of course, Fredrik and Adrian live close by as well."

Adrian bowed lightly by Elsa's side. "And we will be  _just_ as ready to be of assistance to you, Your Grace, should you need anything at all."

Elsa nodded, though she was too exhausted—from the boat ride, her previous illness, the introductions and her . . . well, her  _surprising_ request—to be flattered by his chivalrous words.

"Thank you, Prince Adrian," she managed before turning her attention back to the bedroom ahead of her, a hopeful thought suddenly striking her.

_Perhaps this will be the end of the tour?_

She trotted forward more quickly than before at this idea, able to push from her mind, if only for a moment, the nagging feeling that everything she had done since she'd arrived in the Isles had been  _terribly_  misguided.

"Oh—Your Majesty," the Queen stopped her suddenly, and gestured for the guards, likewise, to wait. "There's something we should make you . . .  _aware_  of before we show you into your rooms and end the tour."

Elsa wasn't sure whether to feel relieved that, indeed, the tour  _was_ finishing—or to feel apprehensive at the warning tone with which this bit of news had been delivered.

She opted for the latter, not wanting to offend her hosts. "What is it, Your Majesties?"

The King and Queen exchanged a brief look—and, just as before, Elsa found it hard to interpret—and the King spoke finally, after having been silent for most of the proceedings since the initial introductions.

"You see, Your Majesty," he started tentatively, making Elsa's brow twitch in worry, "this room, it . . . it used to belong to Pri—the  _traitor_ formerly known as Prince Hans."

She could feel the ice in her fingers—the  _fear._

Or was it  _anger?_

"This is not meant as any sort of  _offence_  to Your Majesty," he explained quickly, likely feeling the temperature of the air around them drop, "but, rather, as a token of our goodwill to you—that you should take this room now as Queen, where the traitor once plotted to overthrow you, and be assured that he will never again occupy such a place of honour in this house."

He fidgeted nervously as he went on. "Of course, we did not expect that you would ask us to—to have him  _return_ during your visit, but . . ."

Elsa wondered if she should have been touched by this explanation—or, perhaps,  _pleased_ by the gesture—and if she hadn't  _just_ taken the entire court of the Isles and its ruling family by shock with her  **ridiculous**  demand, it might all have been easier to swallow.

_Of all the rooms in the palace . . ._

Things being as they were, though, the atmosphere was tenser than ever as the King trailed off, leaving his nimbler wife to pick up the pieces of the conversation.

"We hope you can still accept these arrangements, Your Majesty, as the room has been completely altered from its previous state," she said gently, "however, if you do not find it to your liking, please be assured that we would be  _happy_  to give you a different one elsewhere."

She could have sworn she saw a flash of judgment streak across the Queen's solid gaze—a brief but definitive  _challenge_  in her green eyes—and it made her swallow imperceptibly. Even if Elsa was wrong and had seen nothing on the woman's face, the sentiment she  _thought_ she had seen somehow struck a chord within her.

 _They're right_ — _he doesn't have_ power _over me anymore._

"I'm sure it will be fine," she said finally, her throat dry. "But thank you for your concern."

The King and Queen nodded at this, and Elsa met the Queen's eyes briefly—only this time, she was  _sure_  she had seen a quick, approving smile grace the woman's lips.

"We're glad to hear it," the Queen returned with a small bow of her head, and gestured for the guards to open the doors fully. "And you'll find that your luggage has already been brought in and laid out in accordance with your lady-in-waiting's instructions," she nodded to Gerda at the back, who reddened and curtsied.

The King added to this in an almost absentminded way: "Oh, and Sir Leif, of course, will be housed just next door to you, Your Majesty."

Leif nodded at this, but barely. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see the older man brooding with discontent, just as he had been doing since her surprise "announcement" a few hours earlier. Now, with the knowledge of the room's history, his look had only darkened—and she supposed, with a mental sigh, that she would have to  _attempt_ to explain herself to him at some point (though she doubted he would be amenable to any of her reasons for acting without consulting him or the Council first).

As she entered the room with the King and Queen—the accompanying princes having stayed behind in the hall out of propriety—she was slightly surprised to find that, in fact, there was nothing about the place to indicate that it had ever belonged to a man, much less to a  _prince._ Rather, the decorations had been, just as the Queen said, wholly altered to resemble a lavish, royal guestroom of the sort Elsa was accustomed to staying in during her infrequent visits abroad.

A few personal details had even been added to make her feel more at home—paintings with scenes of the mountains and sea in Arendelle, an ice-blue throw across the bed with snow motifs stitched into it, pennants hanging from the bedposts with her kingdom's green and purple beneath golden crocuses shining brightly—and while she could objectively appreciate these embellishments, she still felt troubled by the mere fact that they were there to  _cover up_  whatever had preceded them.

 _There's no time to_ linger  _on the past, Your Majesty._

It almost felt, in a way, as if they were trying to erase their thirteenth son's very  _existence_ from the palace; and that notion troubled her, and reminded her of closed doors, disappointed faces, Anna's tears,  _conceal, don't_ **feel** _—_

"Well, we'll leave you to your rooms," the Queen said, and clapped her hands together. "Fredrik and Adrian will come before dinner to escort you and Sir Leif to the banquet hall. Until then, please take some rest, Your Majesty. It's been a long day for you, after all."

"And should you need anything," the King added, and he suddenly looked  _very_  old and weary, "there will be guards and servants posted outside your door at all times."

Elsa bowed her head in thanks. "I'm grateful for your hospitality, Your Majesties," she said softly, "and I look forward to seeing you all again at dinner."

The King and Queen left, finally, at this; and as soon as the doors had shut behind Gerda and the other ladies, Leif retiring to his own room (but not before shooting his queen a thick, disapproving frown), Elsa practically collapsed onto the sprawling bed, and her blue eyes closed.

 _This is going to be a_ long  _night._

* * *

By the time the doors to her room opened, revealing her princely escorts outside, Elsa had arrived at the unlikely conclusion that she should feel a peculiar sense of  _pride_ in her unusual lodgings—or, at least, that she should not be  _offended_ by them.

 _After all,_ she mused with a placid façade,  _this room used to belong to one of their_ beloved _sons_ — _and now it is_ mine.

Of course, she had no idea how "beloved" Hans had been by his parents, let alone among his brood of brothers; still, it seemed to her that, more and more, her staying in his old quarters was, at least  _symbolically,_  a gesture on the part of his family that she, too, should feel like one of their own . . . for the time being, anyway.

She doubted, though, that she could ever  _truly_  feel like a part of this strange family, no matter their effort. The circumstances were simply too bizarre to allow for such a sentiment to take hold of her—not to mention the promise of the youngest son's return.

She held back a grimace at that thought as Adrian approached her, offering his arm. He and Fredrik both had changed out of their blindingly white outfits from earlier into equally formal—but perhaps more stain-proof—dark blue suits with black jackets and black boots to match, though they wore different colour cravats (Adrian red, Fredrik a powder-blue).

"Your Majesty, you look . . .  _stunning,"_ he complimented her, and she absently noted how much his smooth, sweet tone resembled his mother's as she smiled lightly.

"You're too kind," she said, taking his arm, and reminded herself not to let her eyes greet his for too long, remembering how  _penetrating_  his gaze had been earlier.

_He's one to watch out for._

She instead looked to his brother, mindful to be diplomatic on all fronts.

"Prince Fredrik," she greeted with a nod, and he bowed back just as stiffly as before, his blue-green eyes—unlike Adrian's—cloudy and  _sharp_.

"Your Majesty," he returned crisply. "Please, follow me."

Elsa glanced to her side where Leif stood, looking less moody than earlier—but still not entirely  _pleased,_  of course.

"I trust you slept well, Leif?" she asked kindly.

He half-grunted in reply, his lip twitching with the beginnings of a frown. "I did, Your Grace."

She nodded, and her smile was genuine. "I'm glad to hear it," she said gently, though as she shifted her attention back to the prince on her arm and the one in front of her, her demeanour became guarded again. "Who will be at dinner?"

"Only the King and Queen and all of our brothers, Your Majesty," Adrian answered, not missing a beat. "But you'll have the opportunity to meet some of the Princes' families and other courtiers afterward, at the ball."

She couldn't help her curiosity at this comment. "Are many of you—the Princes—married?"

Adrian smiled indifferently at the question. "Well, Fredrik and I aren't, as you might have guessed," he remarked, and she saw—briefly—that his older brother tensed at the comment. "But Magnus, Ivar, Anders, Mathias and Harald all are."

Elsa tried to place the names to faces, her brow furrowing— _was Mathias the round one? Harald bearded? No, that doesn't sound right—_ and Adrian chuckled a little at her consternated look.

"No need to worry, Queen Elsa," he reassured her. "There's too many of us to keep track of, after all."

She would have smiled more honestly at the joke had he not then squeezed her arm in such a  _familiar_ way; somehow, she knew that that light touch wasn't as innocent and good-natured as it might have been had it come from one of his older,  _married_ brothers.

She allowed herself a glance at him, though she immediately regretted it—for just as she had suspected, his beautiful eyes were watching her with intense interest in that same moment, and she turned away quickly, hiding her embarrassment.

Elsa swallowed. "Have they been married long?" she asked, trying to distract herself from the cold sensation creeping along her skin beneath the gloves.

_I hope he doesn't notice._

The young prince seemed slightly bored by the topic, though he hid this expertly.

"Magnus and Anders have been wed the longest—ten and seven years, respectively, if I remember correctly. As for the others, they've been married about four or five years." He went on as if reciting statistics from a book rather than describing his own family. "All have children, save for Harald and Annette—a curious thing, too, since they could easily afford to have some, given their  _substantial_ income."

A knowing look passed across his features at this last remark, though Elsa wasn't sure what he meant by it.

_Some family gossip that I don't need to concern myself with, probably._

"And the children, they—they must all be very young, then?" she asked, ignoring whatever he had been implying.

Adrian opened his mouth to reply, but Fredrik suddenly cut in—and his voice was thick with bitter cynicism.

"All under ten years," he said, "and all  _girls."_ He grinned coldly, though he didn't turn around to look at Elsa and his brother as he spoke. "A bit of a cosmic joke, it seems, on our  _dear_ mother."

She blinked in surprise, though she couldn't find the right words to reply. It was the way in which Fredrik had so  _acridly_  spoken, she guessed, that left her short shrift.

Adrian glared ever-so-lightly at Fredrik's back before clearing his throat, his grip on Elsa briefly tightening.

"Yes, well," he said, plastering on a smile, "it's  _unusual,_  I suppose, but they're all very nice girls."

Elsa felt, admittedly, a bit grateful for the change in tone, however forced. Still, she couldn't help but ask the next question that left her lips—in fact, it had been bothering her somewhat since the topic of the princes' families and children had been introduced.

"Is there any reason we won't be seeing them at dinner as well, along with their mothers?"

Whatever small improvement had been made in the atmosphere by Adrian's last comment disappeared again at this query; nonetheless, he made sure to answer first this time, shooting his older brother a warning look as he did.

"Well, you know how young children can be, Your Majesty," he said, trying to put on a good-natured look about it. "Mother—the  _Queen—_ thought that, given your long journey, you'd probably want to have a  _quiet_  meal on your first night here."

She glanced at him at this explanation, and tried not to reveal toomuch of her disbelief.

 _I somehow doubt_   _that's the_ real _reason._

More likely, she guessed, there was some more "drama" behind the scenes between the Queen, her sons, and their families; this much was apparent, anyway, from the blatantly affected smile that remained stiffly mortared to Prince Adrian's lips.

_I probably shouldn't pry more than I already have._

"Well, no matter," she said, leaving the issue behind with as much grace as she could. "I'll be happy to meet the girls regardless."

He looked a little relieved at this, and his grip on her arm relaxed.

"I think they'll take quite a liking to you, Your Majesty."

Her eyebrow piqued, curious. "Why do you say that?"

His smile widened, and his eyes glittered with amusement.

"Why, you're the Snow Queen of Arendelle, of course—you're practically a  _legend_  to the children."

She stiffened.

 _Why, you're the_ Snow Queen _of Arendelle, of course!_

"Is that so?" she breathed out after a moment, and she could  _feel,_ rather than see, the scowl behind her words. "I hope I don't  _disappoint_  them, then."

 _Monster . . ._ **monster!**

Adrian's arm recoiled slightly as her skin temperature dropped a few degrees; she almost grinned smugly to herself at his reaction, her eyes narrowing.

"We're nearly there, Your Majesty," he said quickly, obviously sensing her agitation. "This is, I'm afraid, the one drawback to living in such an immense place," he added after a beat, trying to lighten the mood. "It takes much too long to get where you'd like to be." Looking at her with some curiosity, he continued: "Is the castle in Arendelle very large, as well?"

His question achieved the desired effect when Elsa's expression eased and her skin warmed. "Not anywhere near as large as this, no," she said, not unkindly, "but then, there's only my sister and I, along with my advisers," she nodded at Leif, "and the attendants, of course."

He looked somewhat ill-at-ease at the mention of Anna. "Ah, yes," he seemed eager to move on, "well, in that case, it makes sense, doesn't it? I mean, for yours to be smaller."

She found it odd, seeing the prince's awkwardness around the topic—especially considering he had previously been so skilfully weaving his way through their stilted small talk up to that point—but she supposed that, just as it made  _her_ feel uncomfortable to remember how her sister and the Southern Isles were connected, so, too, did it make even the smoothest of operators among the brothers lose his seemingly imperturbable nonchalance.

"Yes, I think so," she said, and purposely made her tone gentler than before, not wanting either of them to feel anxious when it was apparent that they were getting close to the banquet hall. She smiled with unusual artfulness. "I suppose you two are off-duty for the evening, then?"

Fredrik spoke again, but without the acidic edge from before. "Only until the end of dinner, Your Majesty," he informed her. "After that, we resume our responsibilities."

Adrian looked a little disappointed at the reminder. "Ah, yes," he sighed, "the work of the Royal Guard is never done." He winked at Elsa. "I'm sure you can relate, Your Grace."

She pinked at the sly look, fixing her stare on the doors to the banquet hall, now just ahead of them.

He pulled back his smirk a little as they slowed to a halt by the entrance. "Anyway, I hope that you're able to forget about your many obligations, if only for tonight," he said, and released her arm from his—only to bring her gloved hand to his lips for a soft kiss, his sea-green eyes never leaving hers.

She swallowed as she gingerly withdrew her hand from his, clasping it with the other in front of her.

 _I_ really  _need to watch out for him._

Of the group of silent guards that had flanked her, Leif and the princes en route to the hall, two stood apart to open the doors. Elsa's back straightened as she trained her sights on the incredible room that was revealed, then—though she hardly had much time to appreciate the lavish surroundings, since her eyes quickly fell upon the one person whom she had already seen  _far_  too much of since her arrival.

_Eyes as bright as emeralds._

It took her some effort to keep herself from staring too long at the Queen, and she scanned the rest of the faces standing at the table.

_I can't remember their names._

There was a sensation akin to panic that fluttered in her stomach, but it was brief.

 _No, wait. I_ do  _remember._

She kept her eyes from darting about the room too rapidly, allowing her icy blue stare to run over the princes, one after the other, as they stood, waiting for her to sit by the King and Queen. They seemed to be seated according to their ages, which made things  _slightly_ easier for her; still, it was difficult to recall them all perfectly.

 _On the King's right side are chairs for Leif and I, and then Magnus, the oldest . . . next to him, a seat for Fredrik, I suppose . . . then Anders and Ivar, the twins . . . and then the dark-haired one—Matthew? Martin? I'm probably getting_ that  _wrong . . . the round one next—didn't Adrian mention him and his wife not having children? . . . there's the one who made all the jokes, Kristian, I think his name was . . . and now the pretty younger twins, whose names I've_ also  _somehow forgotten . . . a seat next for Adrian, I presume . . . then the moody one—Tor? I think that's right . . . and finally the self-absorbed, blonde-haired one—but I really can't think of his name, either . . . but wait, there's another chair beside him at the end, an_ empty  _chair—_

She paled.

His  _chair._

She stood stock-still for a moment by her seat, frozen in place at the sight.

 _Why do they still keep an empty_   _chair for_ him?

"It's a  **reminder** , Your Majesty."

She blinked, her heart skipping a beat at the Queen's sudden remark.

"A reminder?"

The Queen nodded sternly, her gaze stony.

"Yes. A reminder to our sons that, should they tarnish their country's honour—or  _betray_  their family's trust—they will never be welcome at this table  _again_."

The room was silent at this cold threat, and Elsa had the feeling that this wasn't the first time it had been uttered there.

She suppressed a shudder as her hands gripped each other tightly.

"I see," she said finally, and nodded to the attendant behind her as she finally sat down, her chair sliding comfortably under her. The King, Queen and their sons followed suit shortly after, and once seated, the King gestured drowsily to a servant by the side-doors leading to the kitchen to begin serving dinner.

 _I guess he's still worn out from earlier,_ she mused as a napkin was laid out in her lap and the first course—a kind of thin but extremely flavourful vegetable soup—was carried out by a procession of footmen to the table and laid in front of each occupant simultaneously.

Recognizing that, as the guest of honour, it was  _she_ whose actions decided when everyone else would begin eating, Elsa did not hesitate; it wasn't as if she wanted to draw out the process any longer than necessary, anyway, since the dinner had already gotten off to a rocky start.

_And I just want to get this over with._

But even as she quietly sipped her soup—and, for that matter, enjoyed its unique flavour to a degree she did not expect—the image of the empty chair at the end of the table nagged insidiously at the back of her mind.

 _It's a_ reminder,  _Your Majesty._

The mere recollection of those harsh words was enough to cause her to suddenly find, as she brought the spoon to her mouth, that her soup had gone cold. She restrained her powers just enough to keep it from icing over completely, but she couldn't help the tiniest beginnings of a frown from forming on her lips.

"Is the soup not to your liking, Your Majesty?"

She reddened, embarrassed at being caught out.

 _She really_ is  _watching me closely, isn't she?_

The idea perturbed her a little, though she tried not to show it. "No, quite the contrary," she assured her host, forcing her lip to curl back up. "It's delicious."

The Queen smiled coolly, though Elsa was certain that the woman had noticed—that she  _knew—_ that Elsa had lost control of herself, if only for a moment.

She only had to see, after all, that the steam previously rising from her guest's soup had disappeared entirely, and given what Elsa had already intuited about the Queen and her razor-sharp skills of observation, it was more than likely that she would have caught this sudden—but subtle—change.

_I can't let that happen again._

"I'm glad to hear it," she said in her unflappably confident way, "because there are several more courses on the way after this one, and, well," she continued with a small grin, "if you hadn't enjoyed the soup, I'm afraid you would not like what follows it, Your Majesty."

Elsa shook her head, and though she felt a little less nervous, she could not match the woman's merry look. "I'm sure I'll enjoy them all."

"Except the rabbit," Kristian interjected from down the table, drawing—as usual—all of his brothers' dirtiest looks, plus his parents'. "The cook always serves it overdone."

"It's  _fine,"_ Magnus corrected, looking among the most irritated of the twelve with the comment. He turned to Elsa with a tight gaze. "Please ignore my younger brother, Your Majesty," he said loudly enough for Kristian to hear, "he always says such . . .  _unnecessary_ things."

"What? I was just telling her the truth," Kristian retorted, snorting in a very un-prince-like manner as his eldest brother glared daggers back at him. "Sorry—I meant I was just telling  _Her Majesty_ the truth," he amended, nodding at Elsa in acknowledgment.

She nodded back just slightly, but the Queen stared down at him in disapproval.

"That's enough,  _both_  of you," she said, chiding them as if they were still children. She looked a bit embarrassed as she turned back to Elsa. "Please forgive my sons, Your Majesty," she implored her guest in much the same way—and at the same,  _loud_  volume—that Magnus had before her. "They're grown men, and yet they still act like  _boys_ all too often."

"It's not as if you  _treat_ us like men," Tor remarked with a brooding look from the other end of the table, earning a sharp, brief—and, Elsa noted with apprehension, almost  _terrifying—_ scowl from his mother.

"Don't speak to your mother that way," the King cut in with a deep frown, taking Elsa off-guard.

Up until then, the older man had been content to eat his soup in silence, and she had wondered, actually, if he had been paying attention to anything going on around him.

_I guess he was._

The Queen pressed the King's hand gratefully as Tor huffed at the order, turning back to his soup with as dark an expression as ever.

 _Strange to think how much Tor looks like_ him _,_ Elsa thought suddenly,  _but how_ differently _he_ acts.

She swallowed another spoonful of cold soup, holding back a grimace.

 _If I keep thinking about him,_ all  _of my food is going to end up like this._

Despite the reminder, she couldn't help but dwell, at least for a moment, on how difficult it was to square the traitor's place in this large family of men and one, dominant woman.

 _I can see some similarities, but at the same time . . . they all seem so—so_ independent  _from each other._

There were the exceptions, of course: Fredrik and Adrian were close, though she wasn't sure if that was as a result of some kind of brotherly "bond" between them or just their working together in the Royal Guard; likewise, the younger pair of twins—whose names she really couldn't  _quite_  remember—had been inseparable during the tour of the palace earlier, talking quietly with each other and standing side-by-side throughout. She remembered thinking, particularly in the latter case, that it had seemed out of place—especially considering that everyone else (even the older twins, Ivar and Anders) only appeared to speak to each other out of necessity.

_But then I suppose that they live separate lives now, for the most part._

The courses changed and some quiet conversation started near her between the King and the younger twins—Emil and Henrik, she thought she had heard him call them—about the state of the Isles's textiles trade with Odens, a neighbouring kingdom to the south, with the occasional comments sprinkled in by some of the others.

She hardly paid any notice to the exchange, absorbed by her thoughts.

 _How can they be so distant when they are all so_ close _in age?_

It bothered her to try and imagine how the brothers must have grown up together, bickering and playing and fighting, only to eventually end up like this—stone-faced, silent, and sitting across from each other at dinner without the slightest inclination to ask one another the simplest questions about their lives, families, and work.

 _But what if they_ didn't  _grow up that way? What if—what if they were just as separate back then?_

The idea made her think of her own isolation from Anna, and how badly it had affected their relationship, and the notion that it could happen not just between two sisters—but between  _thirteen_ brothers—was almost too much to stomach.

_I really don't understand._

The rest of the dinner courses came and went in this same fashion, with Elsa relapsing into bouts of pensive silence between several attempts at starting a conversation with her on the King's part.

It wasn't as though she were  _trying_  to be impolite; in fact, Elsa made sure to nod and comment accordingly as the King spoke at length about their plans for her visit to the city the next day, which particular shops the Queen patronised with her business, his older sons' favourite haunts from their younger days, the best local taverns . . . but she hardly remembered a thing after he'd finished, her mind too full, already, of every sort of troubled thought that one woman could possibly handle.

The Queen had been curiously quiet throughout her husband's enthusiastic, if slow, account of the city's sights to be toured, making only the occasional remark or addition here and there. It was a contrast not only to her chattiness during the palace tour (in which she had, on many occasions, interrupted Ivar and Anders—much to their annoyance), but also her forthrightness at that same dinner only a few courses earlier.

_Maybe she saw that I was uncomfortable._

Knowing how perceptive the Queen was, she guessed that this was the most likely explanation for the woman's sudden decision to sit comfortably in the background of the conversation, allowing the King to speak in his unhurried manner.

Nonetheless, when she compared this considerate, even  _thoughtful_ behaviour in comparison to the dark, twisted stories Kai had recounted to her, it all seemed very strange indeed.

She was particularly confused when she remembered Kai telling her how the Queen had "taken great pains over the course of her reign to ensure that the public's affections remain in her favour," since—when given the golden opportunity to make a flashy entrance before the large, public crowds awaiting Elsa at the main port, and thus show off in person just how powerful she was in the Isles to the newly-arrived Snow Queen—she had instead chosen to stay in the palace with the courtiers who supposedly hated her, allowing her sons to greet Elsa in her place.

 _It just . . . doesn't make any_ sense.

Her shoulders slumped a little in resignation as she finally sliced into her dessert—a fruit tart—and she was grateful that it was already cold.

* * *

"Your  _Majesty."_

Leif was quick to slip in by Elsa's side as soon as the dinner had ended and the group had begun to make their way towards the ballroom, his voice low and dark.

Her skin prickled at his presence, though she didn't want to give any indication to the others that anything was amiss between them.

"Leif," she greeted him quietly, and made sure a smile was ever-present on her lips, "I'm sorry we didn't get to speak in private earlie—"

"It's  _fine_ , Queen Elsa," he cut in suddenly, though this hardly surprised her, since he often did so during Council meetings back in Arendelle, as well.

(Actually, the fact that he did—and that Elsa never even said a word against him for it—bothered Anna to no end on the rare occasions that she had sat in on the meetings, thinking that the man's assertiveness was disrespectful of her older sister, the  _Queen_ ; and suddenly, Elsa was thankful that she had taken him with her, if only to spare Anna the irritation of seeing him on a daily basis.)

"I have to tell you, Your Majesty, that this whole . . .  _situation_ is making me incredibly uneasy," he continued in just above a whisper, staying closely by Elsa's side. He glanced around to make sure none of the brothers—or any of their guards—were listening in before going on. "First with your ' _request'_ in the throne room earlier, made without the sanction of your full Council or even, at least,  _my_ input," he pointed out, indignant, "and then you accepting this  _ridiculous_  room arrangement—it's simply  _irrational_  in every sense of the word."

Elsa's lips pursed at the accusatory nature of the remarks, and couldn't help but feel at least a  _little_ vexed with how bluntly he criticised her decisions.

 _Then again,_ she reminded herself,  _he waited this long to voice his opinion—and he's making sure that only_ I  _can hear it._

That was the oddly comforting thing about having him there, she supposed; she knew that, even if he disapproved of nearly everything she did, he would never directly contradict her in front of potential allies.

 _. . . or_ adversaries _._

She shook her head a little at the thought, and touched Leif's arm gently once her anger had dissipated again.

"I'm sorry I didn't speak with you about it first, Leif—I know I should have," she whispered back, and was relieved to see his furrowed brow relax slightly, "and I also know that I should have thought this through more carefully before we arrived."

He said nothing, but she could feel his heavy gaze on her, and her cheeks heated.

"But I've said my piece, now—for good or ill, I don't know yet—and so I take  _full_  responsibility for my actions and whatever the consequences of them might be." She stared at him with new determination in her blue eyes. "And I can't go back on it now—you  _know_ I can't," she said pointedly, and glanced quickly at the Queen. "Not with  _her_ watching my every move like a hawk."

His eyes followed hers to rest on the Queen a few paces ahead of them—and, thankfully, they were just as quick to return. There was understanding in his look, then—albeit a somewhat hard and  _cold_  understanding—but Elsa thought, perhaps, that she had gotten through to him, if only a  _bit._

"I never expected you to go back on your word," he admitted, "but I wanted you to realize just what you've gotten yourself—what you've gotten  _all_ of us—into, Your Majesty."

She swallowed, and a creeping, cold sensation crawled up her spine.

 _I don't like this, Elsa. I don't like this at_ all.

Elsa winced even  _considering_ what Anna would think of all her older sister's impulsive decisions so far in the Isles; somehow, it was much easier to bear Leif's harsh judgment than to entertain the mere  _notion_ of Anna ever finding out about what had happened. Knowing this, actually, she had been trying to avoid thinking about the consequences nearly all day.

 _But I won't be able to ignore them when I'm face to face with_ him  _again._

She bit her lip briefly as her hands clasped together in front of her, trying not to fidget. She looked to her side at Leif, whose stare was planted ahead, as stoic as ever.

"Leif . . . we must keep this here. Between  _us._ "

He stared at her in shock before shifting his gaze back to the front. "You're asking me to keep the traitor's presence at court a secret from the Council?" he whispered back, and it sounded as if he didn't know whether to be furious or dumbfounded by the request.

She hedged. "Not a  _secret,_ per say, since I'm sure news of it will reach Arendelle soon enough on its own," she said, "but . . . yes. For now, I would prefer it if this were kept quiet."

His lips twitched with the traces of a deep scowl.

"Considering the current state of the seas between Arendelle and the Isles," he said reluctantly, "I'm not so sure they'll know of it before we return."

When she looked at him with gentle surprise at this comment, he added gruffly: "But that doesn't mean I condone  _any_ of this, Your Majesty." He pulled back the scowl with great difficulty, and added just under his breath:

"I'm sure that the Princess Regent, for one, would most certainly  **not** take kindly to this . . .  _revelation."_

Elsa's forehead wrinkled in frustration at the reminder of her sister.

"She didn't approve of me coming here in the  _first_  place, Leif," she pointed out, her hands tensing around each other. "So it goes without saying that anything I've done  _since_  then wouldn't be agreeable to her." After a moment, she added with a slight frown:

" _Especially_ what happened earlier."

**"Your Majesty?"**

Her head nearly jerked up as she recognised the Queen's voice, and realised, with embarrassment, that she had entirely forgotten about the fact that they  _were,_ in fact, going somewhere after all that time.

The Queen smiled, as if to say  _yes, I could see you were distracted,_ but was smart enough not to raise the issue aloud.

"If you would follow the King and I," she said as the tall doors to the ballroom were opened, "I'll make the necessary introductions."

Elsa nodded at this, shoving down her agitation from the conversation with Leif.

"Thank you, Your Majesty."

The Queen nodded back before facing forward again, and she seemed to  _glide_ across the entrance, silencing the already crowded room of extended family members, dignitaries, and courtiers with her presence.

But all Elsa could see was her fiery hair— _like maple leaves in autumn_ —burning a trail in her wake.


	7. Chapter 6: The Garden

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was originally going to be split into two chapters, but the first half is a whole lot of bowing and scraping and nasty barbed comments between the princes and their wives and kids, so I thought I should reward you guys for sticking through the muck of courtly exchanges with something juicier by the end. Honestly, though, all of these introductions do have a point - I'm not just doing it to torture you guys and kill time - especially later on in the story. So that explains why it's so incredibly goddamn long. (Next time, you'll finally be seeing a certain thirteenth son again.)
> 
> I love hearing your thoughts, so please drop me a line or leave a review on this one as well with more of your comments and insights. Cheers!

# Chapter 6: The Garden

  
"Your Majesty—it's an  _honour_ to meet you in person, finally."

Elsa nodded politely as the woman before her curtsied deeply, and she tried not to betray her surprise.

"And you—you must be Annette," she said, thankful that her memory hadn't failed her. "The prince mentioned you earlier."

She blushed at the comment. "Oh, did he? My dear Harald—he's too sweet, really."

It had already been an hour since Elsa had made her impressive entrance after the Queen at the ball, her dark blue gown attracting some "ooh"'s and "ah"'s that would have made Anna grin, but it had also been, as she'd expected, a rather uncomfortable and dull affair.

Uncomfortable, on the one hand, because by the evening, word of her little "scene" in the throne room had spread like wildfire at court, and it was as plain as day that all the softly-moving lips were talking about  _her;_  dull, on the other, because she had spent most of that hour keeping up the pretense of the regal visiting monarch to all the courtiers who introduced themselves, all while having to ignore the judgmental looks they were casting upon her.

She supposed it was her own fault for paying them any mind at all, and for taking the time to notice every mean look or comment made in the room—a consequence, she guessed, of her upbringing.

 _I've spent too many years observing,_   _and not enough just . . ._ being.

She glanced down at her gloved hands, and held back a frown. She knew such brooding would not help her get through the evening any quicker.

 _But balls aren't really my . . ._ thing _in the first place,_ she thought, somehow finding Anna's turn of phrase fitting for that situation.  _But_   _at least no one's expecting me to_ dance _with them._

Her lip quirked slightly upward in amusement.

_Anna wouldn't be so lucky._

In spite of her moody ruminations, she was pleasantly taken aback by the sudden introduction of Prince Harald's glowing wife—enough so, anyway, to distract her from her previously poor humour.

With wavy, long blonde hair worn down in a braid, stunning sky-blue eyes, fair skin, and an enviously lean physique, it was, perhaps, a curious thing that the woman had ended up with her stout husband. Seeing Harald's unabashed look of pride as he regarded his wife, however—and observing how he disregarded the mixture of jealous and suspicious stares of all the courtiers around them (including, she noted absently, his own brother, Prince Kristian, who stared sullenly at them from across the way while nursing a near-empty glass of wine)—Elsa was unexpectedly taken with the couple.

_He really loves her, it seems._

"Are you enjoying your time here so far, Your Majesty?" Annette asked, seeing the queen lost in her own thoughts.

Elsa smiled, trying to extricate herself from her ruminations.

"Yes," she said briefly, "everyone has been so . . .  _accommodating_  since my arrival." She tried to smile wider, though she had a feeling the expression looked as fake as it felt. "Though I'm afraid I've already outstayed my welcome."

Annette tittered nervously at this remark, and her husband looked equally uncomfortable, shifting from one foot to the other.

"No, of course not, Your Majesty," he assured her after an awkward moment.

"That's  _impossible,"_ Annette agreed, nodding vigorously.

The Queen of Arendelle stopped herself just short of rolling her eyes.

_Diplomacy, Elsa._

With that, she dutifully changed topics. "Prince Harald," she addressed him, forcing him to suddenly stand up straighter, "the King mentioned that you live outside of Strande?"

He looked relieved, his eyes brightening at the question. "I'm flattered that you would remember such a thing, Your Majesty," he said gently, and Elsa, admittedly, felt a little bad for creating the tense atmosphere earlier. "Yes, you're correct—we live on Flakstad, now."

Elsa's brow raised in curiosity. "Flakstad? Is that another one of the islands?"

The prince nodded. "Yes, Your Majesty. Only about a forty-minute boat ride from here, but a bit further south."

"And it's home to the second-largest port in the Isles," Annette added thoughtfully, "on account of all the . . . well,  _affluent_ families in residence there."

She seemed hesitant to use the more obvious words— _rich, wealthy—_ and Elsa appreciated this modesty, finding it refreshing.

"I see," she said, and her hands, though gloved as always, relaxed at her side. "Was it very difficult, moving away from here?"

He smiled in turn. "Honestly, it wasn't—I'd just about had enough of palace life by then, anyway." Harald chuckled at the memory, and Elsa even smiled a little, finding the sound remarkably . . .  _human._ "And besides," he added, and gripped Annette's hand tightly, "I much prefer Flakstad to Strande. No one bothers us there."

 _They seem so . . ._ normal.

"I'm sure my mother and father will take you there at some point, Your Majesty," Harald noted, "at which time we would be honoured to give you a tour of the island."

Elsa smiled. "I'd like tha—"

 **"Oh, Your Majesty!** _**There** _ **you are."**

She looked to her side, startled, as Ivar and Anders approached her with their wives and children following at a leisurely pace. She thought she caught, if only for a second, a flash of irritation cross Harald's gaze at being interrupted.

 _Though it was probably bound to happen at_ some  _point,_ Elsa thought,  _since there are_ twelve  _of them._

"Ah, Prince Ivar, Prince Anders," she greeted both in turn, and they bowed.

"Your Majesty," Ivar made sure to put forth his family first, and Anders barely hid his displeasure with this, "allow me to introduce to you my wife, Lady Ingrid of the Edlunds, and our daughter, Karin."

Ingrid curtsied deeply and the young girl followed clumsily, earning an amused smile from the royal guest.

"Your Majesty," she said, casting her gaze down respectfully, "it's truly an honour."

Elsa bowed her head back as she regarded the mother and daughter pair with some interest, since they looked, with their mid-length golden blonde hair, pretty hazel eyes, round, cherubic faces and short statures, practically identical.

In fact, when her eyes flitted over to Anders—who, like his twin, had brought his wife and their only daughter, seemingly the same age as the other girl—she was slightly baffled to find that his ladies, too, looked  _exactly_ alike.

_I guess the wives' blood runs stronger than their husbands'._

The thought almost made her smirk, but she held it in as Anders approached next.

"And I am pleased to introduce my wife, Lady Mona of the Sandviks, and our daughter, Lene."

Lady Mona seemed, at least physically, the polar opposite of her sister-in-law: with long dark hair arranged in a braid, mysterious azure blue eyes, and a tall, sweeping, feminine form, she reminded Elsa of the princes' mother—and looked just as self-confident as she stepped forward, holding her identical little daughter's hand.

"Your Majesty," she curtsied, with Lene following far more gracefully than her cousin. Elsa noticed, as the child looked up, that her eyes were decidedly  _greener_ than her mother's.

"A pleasure," the queen said and nodded to both families before leaning down to meet the girls at eye-level, an unabashed grin tugging on her lips. "And how old are you both?"

The girls pinked at being so close to the Snow Queen, and both shyly shuffled their feet in front of them.

"We're—we're  _four,_ Your Highness," Karin squeaked after a moment, raising her eyes up just enough to look back into Elsa's blue ones.

"It's Your  _Majesty,_ Karin," Ivar corrected his daughter with a frown. " _Your Highness_ is only for princes and princesses, remember?"

The girl reddened at the reminder, and Elsa was about to wave away the concern—but Ingrid did it for her first, looking irritated with her husband.

"Honestly,  _darling,"_ she intoned with a glare, "it's fine. She's still learning, after all."

Contrary to what Elsa expected, Ivar was silent at this, displaying none of the arrogance she had seen from him earlier. The deference to his wife was enough to make her smile wider, though she played it off as a warm gesture to the children.

"Four? Why, you're nearly young ladies, now!" she exclaimed lightly, and the girls giggled.

"We only  _just_ turned four," Lene clarified before adding, primly: "Your  _Majesty."_

Elsa giggled at the add-on. "Oh, I see."

Karin craned her head curiously at the queen, her hazel eyes wide.

"Can you show us your magic, Your Majesty?"

"Oh, yes!" Lene clapped her hands together excitedly, suddenly dropping her proper façade. "We'd really love to see it,  _please!"_

All six of the surrounding adults froze at this question—and even Elsa, admittedly, stared back into their matching pairs of gleaming eyes with some trepidation.

 _You're practically a_ legend  _to the children,_ Adrian's voice suddenly rang in her head, and she blinked as the girls continued to watch her eagerly.

"Lene,  _dearest,"_ Mona said nervously, and took her daughter's hand again, "what did I tell you about your manners with the Queen?"

"And  _Karin,"_ Ingrid chided, casting her girl a sideways look of disapproval, "I thought I told you not to ask about this—"

"I'm sorry, girls," Elsa said finally, interrupting Ingrid mid-sentence as she settled on a calm smile, "but I'm afraid I can't, right now."

Seeing how their expressions dropped, she drew in slightly closer, and lowered her voice as if to tell a great secret. The girls followed her lead with their big, curious gazes, their foreheads nearly touching hers.

" _You see,"_ she whispered confidentially to them,  _"my powers don't work if I don't get enough sleep, and I haven't been able to get any since I arrived!"_ She held back a grin as she continued:  _"So once I'm rested, it'll be much easier to do it."_

The girls shared a look of understanding at this, sympathetic.

" _I can't do my lessons when I'm sleepy, either,"_ Lene confessed.

" _Me too,"_ Karin agreed.  _"It's hard to think when I'm really tired."_

Elsa's expression held a note of mirth even as she tried to maintain her solemnity about the issue.

" _Then you know how much better the magic will be when I'm not sleepy anymore, right?"_

They nodded in unison at this, and suddenly turned to their parents with determined little faces.

"We should let Queen Elsa go to bed," Karin declared, Lene nodding all the while.

"She's tired, mama," she chimed in to Mona, who, taken aback at the comments, glanced between her daughter and Elsa.

Seeing the latter's coy smile, however, she suddenly understood the request—and shared a look of amusement with Ingrid next to her as she patted Lene on the head.

"Yes, perhaps you're right," she said with a smile, "I'm sure Her Majesty needs sleep after such a long day. Wouldn't you agree, Lady Ingrid? Lady Annette?"

The two women looked as if they were about to grin, but kept their calm long enough to convince the little girls that they were taking the situation  _very_  seriously.

"Of course," Ingrid said, taking Karin's hand in hers.

"Absolutely," Annette agreed, smirking slightly at Harald.

"Well then, ladies," Mona said, smiling, "say goodbye to the Queen, and let us be on our way."

The two girls curtsied. "Goodbye, Queen Elsa," they said in unison, and the adults followed suit (though the three husbands looked baffled by the entire exchange, no doubt annoyed that their interaction with Elsa had been cut short). Even as they walked away, however, the girls made sure to turn back and wave shyly to Elsa, who returned the gesture with a chuckle.

 _Now maybe I really_ can  _leave early, and go to sleep._

Though ready for bed, Elsa was, admittedly, sad to see the girls go. They vividly reminded her of the parts of her childhood that she still  _liked_ to remember: the long days spent outside playing in the meadows with Anna, food fights at the dinner table, playing tricks on Gerda and the other attendants before bed, building snowmen in the Great Hall . . .

That last recollection made her wince, and no sooner had it passed through her mind than she suddenly  _dreaded_ the thought of going back to her quarters in the palace—or, more correctly,  _his_ old quarters—where she was certain that such dark thoughts would plague her the whole night through.

 _And soon, he'll be_ here _._

She felt her skull throb on this point, and she wondered again,  _again,_ how had she let herself do it? What was  _wrong_ with her? When was the exact moment, the exact  _second_ in which she'd allowed her impulsive, reptilian instincts to overtake her clear-headed,  _rational_  mind and—

**"Your Majesty."**

Elsa wanted nothing more than to scowl at that title; she had heard it  _far_ too much already that day.

_I miss Anna._

"Prince Magnus," she greeted automatically, miraculously recognising the eldest son even while thinking only of how she was going to write that first letter to her sister.

 _Will it even get to her?_ she mused as the prince towered over her, ushering his wife and daughters to his side. She remembered Ivar saying something earlier at port—something about . . .

— _it appears that the sea is due to be unquiet for a few more days yet._

"This is my wife, Lady Karoline of the Lindgrens," he gestured to a tall, thin, and impeccably dressed woman with short, dark blonde hair, blue eyes, and a cool stare. "And our daughters, Silje, Liv, and Eva."

The three girls dipped one by one, all as pretty as their mother, and all as neat.

 _But if the letter is delayed, that means that news of_ him  _will be, too,_ she reminded herself, remembering her and Leif's conversation just a short while earlier on the same subject.

She smiled in spite of her unease. "And how old are you all?" she asked, just as before.

"Ten, Your Majesty," Silje curtsied.

_Light brown hair, short like her mother's. Blue eyes. Well-mannered._

Her lips pursed a little at the girl's blank expression.

 _Perhaps_ too  _well-mannered for her age._

The middle daughter, Liv, went next.

"Seven, Your Majesty," she said, curtsying.

_Long, dark brown hair. Green eyes. Seems to take after her grandfather._

Elsa nodded, though she was beginning to feel sick.

 _I couldn't_ bear  _it if Anna knew._

Finally, the youngest—Eva, she thought her name was—spoke.

"I'm five years old, Your Majesty," she said a little more shyly than her older sisters, making Elsa's heart warm.

_Mid-length, light blonde hair. Blue eyes. Angelic—but not as lively as her cousins._

She paused at this.

 _Well,_ none  _of them seem to be as lively as those two, really._

"Your girls are charming, Prince Magnus, Lady Karoline," she met their parents' gazes again, though she detected none of the cordiality that the other princes and their wives—and even  _Ivar—_ had expressed at Elsa's interaction with their children.

 _Anna_ really  _wouldn't like these two._

"Thank you, Your Majesty," Karoline said, though there was more than a hint of conceitedness in her tone as she kept her eyes at level with the queen's. After a time, she turned her sharp gaze down to her daughters. "Girls—aren't you going to thank the Queen for her kind words?"

All three dipped low again, and said in unison:

"Thank you, Queen Elsa."

Elsa brushed off the gesture with a nervous laugh, unsettled by the display. "Oh, there's no need for that," she said quickly, and tried to ignore the discontentment that etched itself onto the older woman's face at the comment.

_I don't think she likes me, somehow._

Magnus's expression, by contrast, was harder to read. "I take it you've met my brothers and their wives and children, as well?"

She nodded, and absently wondered how she could keep her shoulders from slumping in fatigue.

 _This conversation_ certainly  _isn't helping to keep me alert._

"Yes—I was just speaking with Prince Harald, Ivar and Anders a moment ago, actually," she said, and was vaguely impressed with herself for being able to string words together in a sentence. She smiled a little at remembering Karin and Lene, and looked down at his children again. "Do you girls play with your cousins a lot?"

Silje, the eldest, shrugged. "They live on the other side of the island, Your Majesty," she replied simply, her blue eyes as placid—and as cryptic—as her father's. "So we don't see them much."

Elsa wanted to make some trite comment— _oh, that's a shame,_ or  _don't you wish you saw them more often?—_ but, seeing the complete and total disinterest of nearly everyone in the family on this particular subject, she thought it best not to ask anything further.

"I see," she replied, smiling thinly.

 _I'm really starting to_ hate  _that phrase._

"So you haven't met Mathias's wife and children, then."

It was more of a statement than a question that came from Karoline then, and she said it with a kind of snide  _sneer_  that Elsa instinctively recoiled from. It reminded her far too much, actually, of the people that once would have seen her  _dead_ rather than rule.

_Monster._

She merely blinked politely, as if to indicate surprise. "No, I don't believe I have."

**"And I'm afraid you won't be able to, unfortunately."**

She nearly jumped out of her skin as a new voice entered the conversation, and glanced up just in time to see Karoline pale at whomever it belonged to.

When Elsa realized that the man who had spoken was the very Prince Mathias whom the woman had been previously mocking, she had to bite her cheek to keep from laughing.

 _I bet she wasn't expecting_ that.

"Prince Mathias," she bowed her head in acknowledgment, "forgive me—I did not see you approaching."

His darkly handsome features extended an imposing shadow over the group, though he bowed back to the queen with surprising fluidity, given his muscular build.

"No need to apologize, Your Majesty," he said quietly, "I was just  _passing through."_

He shot a harsh glare at Karoline as he stood straight, and then exchanged only a brief look with his older brother.

"Magnus," he greeted.

"Mathias," the other returned.

Elsa glanced between them, baffled; then, she felt resigned.

_It's not so different from how Anna and I used to be, is it?_

She twitched at the notion, collecting herself again. "You're both . . . in the Army, if I remember correctly?"

"Yes," Magnus replied promptly, not looking at Mathias as he spoke. "Mathias acts as a Captain under  _my_ command."

Mathias's expression darkened at this remark.

"Indeed."

He turned back to Elsa in the next moment, a brooding frown playing on his lips. "As I was saying, Your Majesty," he began, "I apologize for my wife and children being  _unable_  to attend tonight."

He stared severely at Karoline when he said that word— _unable_ —but Elsa was too tired to care why.

She stuck to the general context instead. "Is everything all right?" she asked, pretending concern.

He nodded gruffly. "It's my youngest daughter, Mari," he explained, "she came down with some kind of illness. Nothing serious, but Cecilie—my wife—thought it best if she stayed home with her." He looked somewhat irritated when he paused—and his arms tensed—but he continued. "And my daughter Anna, the elder, wouldn't leave her sister's side, of course."

Elsa blinked at the name— _Anna—_ and it evoked a warm, cosy feeling in her breast _._

 _I really_ do  _miss her._

Karoline snorted suddenly—and the sound was loud enough to draw everyone's attention to her face, which was full of disbelief—but as soon as she encountered Mathias's deep, unrelenting scowl, she swallowed uncomfortably.

Elsa's brow rose; even if she didn't  _want_ to care or be curious in the slightest about this family's internal drama, they certainly weren't making much of an effort to hide their disdain for each other in front of her.

"Well, I do hope your daughter recovers soon," Elsa said suddenly, hoping to somehow slip out of the suffocating conversation. "Please send them all my regards, and tell them that I hope we can meet in the near future."

"And send  _ours,_ too, won't you, brother?" Magnus added, if somewhat condescendingly.

Mathias's scowl had not dissipated in the slightest. "Of course _,_ Your Majesty," he nodded to her, " _brother,"_ he glared at Magnus, who stared stonily back.

Elsa swallowed, stiffening.

_Now's my chance._

"If you'll excuse me, Your Highnesses," she stepped back as smoothly as she could from the group, "I'm just going to have a word with my adviser."

Her exit broke the tension, if only for a second, and they bowed and curtsied to her in turn.

"Your Majesty," said Magnus.

"Your Majesty," said Karoline.

"Your Majesty," said Mathias.

She dipped her head and then— _finally—_ she lifted her eyes again, and scanned the room.

 _I can't leave without Leif knowing,_ she thought, and sighed internally.  _I've already caused him too much trouble._

"Erik," she spotted one of her guards who had been following her all evening, and was gladder than ever to see a familiar, Arendellian face, "have you seen Sir Leif?"

The older man gestured to the far end of the room, his long, brown hair falling across his forehead.

"He's been engaged in conversation with a fellow by the refreshments for some time now, Your Majesty," he informed her as they began to make their way over, and she nodded perfunctorily to various courtiers along the way.

She looked up at the tall man with a jokingly pained expression. "Please, at least call me 'Queen Elsa,'" she said in a pretend-pleading way, wincing. "I've heard enough 'Your Majesty''s today to last a lifetime."

He smirked a little at her request, and replied:

"As you wish, Queen Elsa."

She breathed a sigh of relief. "That's  _much_ better," she praised, summoning a grateful smile. She glanced around the room, making sure to avoid resting her gaze on any stranger at court for too long lest they get the impression that it was all right to approach her then (it wasn't) or ask her— _Heaven forbid_ —if she'd like to dance (she didn't, not in the  _slightest)._

It was amazing to her, really, how long it was taking them just to get from one part of the ballroom to the other; and perhaps she could have appreciated its majesty, and the beautiful design and decoration of it, had she not felt as if she were on the verge of simply tumbling over into a deep, endless slumber right then and there on the polished wooden floor.

"Do you think it would be terribly rude for me to leave now?" she asked her guardsman frankly, allowing her eyes to droop. "I've never felt so tired in my life."

Erik looked at her curiously; and suddenly, Elsa realized, with some embarrassment, that it was probably strange for him to hear his queen speak so informally.

"I'm sorry," she amended sheepishly, reddening. "I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable."

He shook his head, smiling a little. "No, it's fine—I understand, Queen Elsa," he said gently. "And I'm not sure I'm really the man to ask such a thing, since I don't know much about what's considered 'proper' at this court, but . . ." He paused, and grinned with surprising ease. "I would  _assume_ that leaving after only an hour or so might be considered a bit . . .  _unusual,_ at least."

She sighed at this, smoothing back a bang from her face. "I suppose you're right," she admitted, and continued more guiltily: "But I really  _wish_ I could."

They shared a smile after this, and Elsa, for the first time that day, felt secure that at least  _one_ of her her decisions—namely, to bring along several members of her close, personal guard, including Erik, to the Isles with her—had been correct.

 _It's not as if I left Anna undefended, anyway,_ she affirmed.  _There's plenty more back home with her._

Her mood lightened at this.

_And besides—she has Kristoff._

_And Olaf._

_And even_ Sven _._

She giggled to herself at this, though she had to wipe her amusement from her face as they finally arrived at the refreshments table.

"Sir Leif," she greeted her unusually rosy-cheeked adviser, who blinked in surprise upon seeing her.

"Oh, my Queen!" he exclaimed, settling down his wineglass clumsily on the table behind him, "I was wondering where you went." He gestured to his side. "I've been speaking with Sir Anton, one of the Queen's advisers."

She raised an eyebrow at his state— _drunk, no doubt,_ she mused—but she could hardly judge him harshly for it.

"I was just meeting some of the princes and their families," she told him, and her gaze shifted to the man at his side. "Sir Anton—a pleasure."

The man standing beside Leif looked around the same age, if slightly younger; and he, likewise, was redder than a ripened tomato.

"Your Majesty," he bowed, and would have spilled the contents of his glass onto her dress had it not been for Erik's expertly pushing her out of the path of the red liquid, now splashed onto the floor below.

The Southern Queen's adviser looked mortified, stuttering.

"Oh—oh, Your Majesty! Please, I—I—I'm so sorry, forgive me—"

She held up a hand as her forehead wrinkled slightly; she achieved a wincing smile.

"No harm done, Sir Anton," she assured him, exchanging a knowing look with Erik before drawing close to Leif. "I just came to inform you that I'll likely be retiring soon, for the evening," she was succinct, though she watched to make sure he understood her, "but do not feel as though you have to leave on my account."

She eyed Anton's humiliated shuffling as an attendant came to clean up the mess with a rag, staring at Leif pointedly.

"I wouldn't want to cut your  _conversation_ short, after all."

He reddened at this, and Elsa had to admit, if only to herself, that his embarrassment pleased her.

 _He was_   _scolding me_ so _much earlier, after all._

"Please, Your Majesty," he bowed, averting his eyes from her shrewd stare, "you should rest, of course."

She nodded curtly. "I'll see you tomorrow morning. Good night until then, Sir Leif."

He continued in that bowing position, but even from where she stood, she could see that his face was as crimson as ever.

"Good night, Your Majesty."

Her urge to smile smugly was  _intense_ , but, against all the odds, her manners won out, and she departed in as calm and regal a fashion as was expected of her.

_You can't let it go, Elsa._

Her hands tightened into fists at her side.

_Not yet._

* * *

It had taken Elsa another half an hour to finally wrangle herself out of that first night's ball—and then  _another_ thirty minutes to wash her face and dress for bed—and somehow, in spite of  _all_ of that, she laid wide awake, staring up at the canopy.

 _Well—_ wide _awake might be pushing it._

She was still bone-weary from the day's events, of course, and a part of her enjoyed simply lying in bed and not having to move, or nod, or refuse invitations to dance, or say "mhm" and "I see" and "pleasure to meet you" to one painted face after the other.

The  _other_ part of her, however, was restless— _fiercely_ restless.

At first, she thought it was due to the raucous noise filtering in from the ongoing party in the ballroom, which—though nearly at the other end of the palace—could still be heard from her room.

(And she had, admittedly, been surprised that the ball had carried on after her departure, since back in Arendelle, it surely would have ended whenever the Queen retired back to her chambers, even if she chose to do so much earlier than expected.)

 _I_ did  _tell them not to stop on my account,_ she reminded herself with a frown,  _though I didn't expect that they would_ actually _keep going._

But as the hours had ticked by, the noise eventually dying down to a few whispers going up and down the halls—and Elsa remained just as awake as before—she knew that that couldn't be the explanation for her agitation.

_Too much has happened already._

She couldn't stop herself from dwelling on every little thing she felt she had done wrong since she arrived—every word misspoken, every nervous laugh, every mistimed frown, every disingenuous smile—and, quite frankly, her surroundings weren't helping matters, since they only reminded her of what she had to "look forward" to within the coming days.

 _I really,_ really _don't know what I was thinking._

She sighed, and it felt like the thousandth sigh she had released that evening.

 _But I_ do  _know._

Elsa finally sat up and ran her hand along the snow-patterned throw sprawled across the bed, grabbing a fistful of the fabric as she tensed in the darkness.

 _I won't live in fear of_ him _._

She wondered, then, if it had been worth it—thinking back on all the stares and whispers and even  _sneers_ she had received from the courtiers during the ball, still in disbelief at her "display" at court—and she felt her hand relax slightly.

 _It doesn't matter what_ they _think._

She pulled away the covers after a moment and breathed out slowly, calming herself.

 _It's just something I—I_ have  _to do_.

It was clear, by then, that there was no chance of getting to sleep any time soon; she slipped on a night robe and felt slippers from the overly-large wardrobe by the bed, and—nearly forgetting—she grabbed a pair of white gloves from the top of the dresser nearest to the doors.

 _I need to get out of_ here, _at least._

She opened one door, scaring the wits out of her Arendellian guardsman in front of it—Martin, one of the younger ones—and held back a giggle as he stumbled to collect himself, earning a glare from his older colleague, Finn.

"Your Majesty," he started, and his posture straightened again as she shut the door quietly behind her, "you're going out?"

She shook her head. "I couldn't sleep, but I'm not going anywhere in particular," she admitted. "I thought I might just wander around the halls—if you'll accompany me, of course."

Martin blushed at the offer. "Oh, Your Majesty, of co—"

"Perhaps it would be better if  _I_ accompanied you, Queen Elsa," Finn interceded, cutting the younger man a sharp look. "After all, he is . . . rather  _new_ to all of this."

Elsa refrained from grinning at the scene, amused by the jealous comment, and nodded politely.

"Whatever arrangement suits you both best."

Seeing Finn's glare morph into a threatening glower, Martin swallowed nervously, and bowed.

"Of course Sir Finn should go with you, Your Majesty," he lowered his head in deference. "I'll watch over your quarters in the meantime."

Finn's look eased slightly at this, satisfied by the show of respect, and Elsa covered her mouth as a smirk played on her lips.

"Very well then," she concluded the conversation, and gestured to the hallway before her. "Sir Finn, if you would."

He bowed and turned from Martin, following Elsa as she began to walk away from the room; when she glanced back, she could see Martin's disappointment written all over his youthful features, and she winced with guilt.

She stopped suddenly, turned around, and curtsied to her guard.

"We'll see you soon, Sir Martin," she said with a warm smile, ignoring the frown on Finn's face as she did so.

Martin beamed back. "Yes, Your Majesty!" he nearly exclaimed, though he looked embarrassed, in the next moment, to realize how loud he had been at such a late hour.

She allowed herself a giggle at his expense, and she knew then that it was worth bearing Finn's irritation for the rest of her walk just to see that contented look planted on Martin's dimpled cheeks. It made her feel better knowing that she had made at least  _one_ person happy that day, anyway.

Her fingers curled at the thought, and she desperately wanted to form a cloud of flurries— _anything—_ to dispel the tension building inside of her then.

_Not now, Elsa._

Even strolling at a leisurely pace through the great residence hall of the palace, she didn't feel comfortable with the idea of taking off her gloves; there were still too many strange eyes she did not trust on her as she passed, and though they were only other guardsmen like Finn and Martin, she did not know them well enough to be . . . well,  _herself._

 _The_ Snow Queen _of Arendelle._

She brushed off the name as she finally pulled her eyes away from the marble floors in front of her to gaze at the surrounding walls, scanning the countless family portraits hanging on them.

_Just the same as any other kingdom._

The men all seemed to resemble King Oskar in one way or the other—the brown hair (though his had gone grey many years ago), the ocean-blue eyes, the slight and tall figure—and though all had married a number of countesses, duchesses, and other highborn women with varied physical characteristics, the traits of the Isles' Kings had stubbornly passed on to nearly all their children.

That is . . . until  _her._

She stopped in her tracks when she reached the end of the long corridor; then, her gaze travelled up until it reached a familiar set of eyes, eyes  _as bright as emeralds—_

And there she stood on the winding staircase of the entrance hall—the current Queen of the Southern Isles—in a billowy, silken, deep blue gown, with one pale, smooth hand lightly gripping the railing, and the other encased in the hold of a middle-aged Oskar, his hair still dark and his skin glowing with health.

Even this version of the King, however, was unremarkable in comparison to the younger Therese, her hair looking redder and finer than Elsa could remember as it lay across her chest in a thick, elegant braid inlaid with flowers, pearls, and gemstones, topped with a large, fan-shaped tiara that shimmered even through the paint.

 _. . . he married the Queen while she was still just a girl, no more than fifteen—and he over_ forty _._

It was easy to see, looking at the portrait, how the King had been so quickly taken with Therese's beauty, though Elsa remained of the firm opinion that she had been too young— _far_ too young—to be married when she was.

_Even younger than Anna when she—_

She shook off the memory with some effort, frowning, and stared back up at the painting in an almost  _accusing_ manner.

 _I guess_ he  _got his ideas about marriage from his parents, huh?_

"It really is a bit much, isn't it?"

Elsa breathed in sharply at the question, and slowly craned her neck around to meet the Queen herself, likewise covered in a night robe and wearing slippers, both as red as her hair.

"Your Majesty," she curtsied as the Queen nodded to her. "Forgive me. I did not see you there."

The Queen smiled knowingly. "I didn't want to interrupt when you seemed so deep in thought," she returned, looking past Elsa at the portrait. A brief touch of nostalgia coloured her green eyes as she regarded it. "I still remember the day I stood for it with Oskar," she sighed, pressing a bare hand to her cheek. "Not two days after we were wed."

She laughed a little at the memory, and glanced at Elsa interestedly. "I must look too young there to be married, mustn't I?"

Elsa reddened at the remark, though the Queen, it seemed, did not expect a reply.

"Well, I  _was,_ really. But you know what they say," she added, a strange light in her gaze, "'the course of true love never did run smooth.'"

Elsa's blush subsided a little in curiosity. "Were you and the King very much in love, then, when you—when you married?" She looked embarrassed a moment later. "I'm sorry if that's rude to ask—"

"No, not rude at all," the Queen interrupted reassuringly, staring at her painted visage. "Admittedly," she said reluctantly, "it was Oskar who confessed his love to me first, and I—well," she continued with an indecipherable expression, "I learned to love him back."

She paused for effect. "But, of course, that was easy to do with Oskar," she said more cheerfully, though the smile on her lips was somehow unconvincing. "He has been a good and faithful husband to me all these years, and an excellent father to our sons."

Elsa tried not to stare back in disbelief.

 _And have you_   _been a "good and faithful" wife, Your Majesty?_

The Queen's smile was stiff as she finally tore her eyes away from the painting. "I could not have asked for a better match, really." She turned to Elsa with an inquiring stare. "Have you thought about marriage, yet, Your Majesty?"

Elsa averted her eyes from the Queen's, caught off-guard by the sudden shift in topic.

"I, um, well," she began hesitantly, "I've received several offers, but . . . I haven't actually considered any of them seriously yet, no."

The Queen made a small noise of understanding, nodding. "Well, it's early days yet, I suppose," she remarked, "and besides, after everything that's happened . . . I can't say I blame you for waiting."

Elsa's jaw twitched at this; somehow, coming from  _her,_ the sympathy didn't feel genuine at all _._

"It's not that—not that I haven't thought about it," she admitted after a moment, still uneasy, "but—like you said yourself, Your Majesty— _too much_ has happened."

There was silence for a while after this—and Elsa wondered if, perhaps, she had been too blunt—but before she could think of something to say to dispel the quiet, the Queen spoke.

"Since it seems neither of us is able to sleep yet," she observed, her eyes as unruffled as before, "would you like to take a stroll with me through the gardens?" She gestured to the hall on their left. "There's a lovely one in the cloister by the chapel."

Considering the fact that she thought she had just, well, sort of . . .  _offended_ the Queen in some way, Elsa was taken aback by the kind offer.

"Of—of course, Your Majesty," she nodded, unable to keep the surprise out of her voice. "I would like that very much."

The Queen smiled, and swept her crimson robe after her as she walked.

"Then please, Your Majesty—follow me."

* * *

It took much less time than expected to reach the cloister, Elsa thought—then again, the Queen was walking at a much brisker pace than during the tour earlier (and her feet hardly made a sound against the polished stone floor below, Elsa noticed enviously).

They had walked in silence during that time, though the young queen of Arendelle didn't find the quiet as disturbing as before. Still, she glanced behind them from time to time to check that Finn was still following, and whenever she met his eyes, the two nodded to each other in understanding.

Close behind him were the Queen's guardsmen—all  _five_ of them—and though the number seemed excessive, Elsa supposed that, in such a gigantic palace, she might feel less safe with only one or two men herself.

 _And it's so . . ._ spooky  _at night,_ she thought, listening absently to the tramping of the guard's feet and how it echoed through the wide, white hallways. Moonlight filtered in through the tall windows on either side, and it cast a strange pallor on the stone—sometimes shifting as clouds passed in front of it, other times as stiff and straight as a beam of sunlight—but always eerie.

"Ah—here we are."

They stood by the entrance to the chapel at the end of the hall—an entrance, Elsa noted, which looked only slightly grander than all the others to the various rooms of the palace, marked out as a chapel only by the religious symbols carved into the iron bars over it—but the Queen was staring at a wooden door to the left of it, her gaze softer than before.

A guard materialized from the group behind them to unlock the door, having a set of master keys in his possession, and once unlocked, he opened it with nary a creak to be heard.

"Thank you, Karl," she said, and from her familiar form of address, Elsa gathered that she knew the guard well—and also from the fact that he was trusted to carry so many important keys in the first place.

 _And I wonder how_ else  _she might know him._

She reddened at the notion, scolding herself internally for even surmising such a thing while in the presence of the Queen.

 _Kai filled my head with all these . . ._ ideas,  _didn't he?_

She cooled her skin to rid herself of the thought as she followed the Queen through the entrance to the cloister.

_Just focus on playing your part, Elsa—on keeping calm—on . . ._

Her eyes widened.

 _This is . . ._ beautiful.

The grey stone of the winding path through the large, walled-in garden was surprisingly softer on her slipper-covered feet than the marble of the palace, and she found herself almost  _floating_ along it as she gazed, wide-eyed, around the enclosure.

Though surrounded by the tall walls of the palace, the garden itself was a colourful display of expertly-tended plants, bushes and flowers of every variety—even those, Elsa noted, which normally would not have been blooming that time of year. The moonlight, which had seemed so ghostly earlier, illuminated their colours, contours and contrasts in a way that daylight never could; she even touched the red leaf of one particularly luminous bush to see if it was real (though, she realized immediately afterward with a frown, she couldn't  _really_ tell through her gloves).

But what attracted the young queen most to the place was how  _wild_ it felt.

Compared to the perfectly-manicured appearance of everything else she had seen since she stepped foot in the palace—the pristinely clean dishes upon which dinner had been served, the buffed wooden floors of the ballroom, the brilliant shine of the chandeliers hanging from nearly every ceiling in sight—this garden felt unkempt and somehow  _intimate,_ as if she were invading the Queen's privacy by entering it.

 _Maybe it_ is  _her private garden,_ she thought, and felt a little relieved that she was wearing her gloves then, lest she unintentionally freeze something.

The Queen looked back at Elsa over her shoulder as the last guard closed the door behind them, smiling knowingly at the younger woman's admiring stare.

"You might have guessed, Your Majesty," she began, "that this garden . . . isn't exactly open to the public." She touched an orchid briefly, gazing at the plant fondly. "I often come here, when I need to think."

Elsa nodded. "I can see why," she returned, smiling. "It's very peaceful."

The Queen looked at her gloved hands curiously. "You needn't worry about that here, Your Majesty," she told her kindly. "Please, feel free to remove them."

Elsa's heart seized at the suggestion, gentle as it was; she shook her head after a moment, her fingers tightly interlaced.

"I appreciate your concern, Your Majesty," she said, her back stiff, "but, if you don't mind—I feel more comfortable keeping them on."

" _Therese,"_ the Queen said suddenly, and smiled coyly, "if you please."

Elsa blinked in surprise at this—and then, realising what the proper response was, she blushed, and dipped her head gratefully.

"In that case, Your— _Therese,"_ she corrected, her cheeks pink, "please—call me Elsa, as well."

The Queen—no,  _Therese,_ Elsa reminded herself—smirked a little at this.

"Very well,  _Elsa,"_ she replied playfully, making Elsa's blush deepen. After a moment, her expression grew more serious again. "And about the gloves—I understand," she said, her tone sympathetic. "Although . . . I do hope that you grow comfortable enough, at some point during your stay here, to take them off."

Elsa swallowed at the idea.

"I don't think that would be advisable," she said, and frowned a little at how piteous she sounded.

 _You're a_ **queen** ,  _Elsa—now_ act  _like one._

"Well, it's your choice, of course," Therese said simply, seeming to lose interest in the topic. "I wouldn't want to ask for anything . . .  _unreasonable_ of you."

The comment stung, and Elsa guessed that she had meant it to.

"I'm sorry," she said suddenly, her head bowed contritely, "for—for all that's happened since I arrived."

 _So much for trying to act_ tough.

She grimaced at the soft, green grass below, sparkling under the moon's glow. "I've demanded so much from you, and it's only been a day—"

"What are you saying, dear?" Therese interrupted, surprised by the sudden apology. "You've done nothing wrong—nor have you demanded much at all."

Elsa lifted her eyes to meet the Queen's, and surprise was once again written all over her pale, wintry features.

"I . . . I haven't?"

The auburn-haired monarch smiled as she took a seat on a stone bench by a fountain, patting the spot next to her. Elsa hesitantly took it, sweeping her robe under her.

"If you're referring to what happened earlier in the throne room," she said, catching Elsa's discomfiture, "there's really no need to feel sorry for it." She paused as her eyes turned to look at the running water in the fountain. "To tell the truth, I—I  _admire_  you for what you did."

Elsa was mute with shock.

 _She . . ._ admires  _me?_

"I . . . I'm not sure I understand," she said slowly after a minute, still processing the idea.

Therese sighed, and her gaze returned to Elsa. "Of course I wasn't well-pleased at first with the request, given my son's crimes against you and your kingdom," she admitted, frowning a little, "but then, the determination with which you spoke—and the way you overcame your own fear in that moment—I was truly  _moved_ by it."

Elsa didn't know whether to be more flabbergasted by the mere  _notion_ that this intensely powerful, intimidating woman could be, hypothetically, "moved" by the rash decision of a young, inexperienced queen—or by the fact that Therese's eyes were very clearly  _genuine_ in their communication of this.

 _Could it—could it really be_ true?

"You may think I'm just putting it on, and that I'm really just glad that you've given me an excuse to see my son again—and I couldn't blame you for feeling that way," she added with a serious look. "But— _honestly_ —that's not why."

Elsa blushed, embarrassed. That explanation, logical as it was, had not even crossed her mind.

Therese frowned at her earlier thought. "In fact, I was perfectly content never to see him  _again,_  but . . ." Her tone became nonchalant. "No matter. I understand, anyway, that this is something you have to do for yourself—and I don't begrudge you that decision in the slightest, even if others would."

Elsa wondered, with consternation, if what the Queen said could really be true—that if she never saw him again, her own  _son,_ she would be "perfectly content."

_It fits her image, though, doesn't it?_

Even so, she felt unsettled by the remark; and she had to wonder, if briefly, how the Queen might turn on  _her_ should she do anything to upset the peace.

Elsa tried to keep from shuddering at the thought.

"It really was just an impulsive wish, Your— _Therese,"_ she amended at the last second, her face flushed. "And—if I'm being honest—I've been questioning it since this morning."

Therese placed a hand on her shoulder at this—and, though it was warm, Elsa nearly recoiled from it—and the Queen's expression was unusually sombre.

"Don't doubt yourself, Elsa," she cautioned the young woman, her grip tightening, "for others will see it—they'll  _smell_ it—and they will prey upon you for it."

Elsa's blush dissembled at the warning, feeling a little ashamed to have revealed her internal misgivings to a woman who was, still, only a stranger.

"I—I know," she breathed out hollowly. "I know that, but . . ." She swallowed uneasily. "It's hard  _not_  to, sometimes."

Therese released her shoulder, sighing again. "I know, dear," she said with easy affection. "After all, I was your age once, too—if you can believe that."

Elsa's mouth wrinkled with a smile at the quip as the Queen continued. "Of course, back then, I had Oskar to support me; so I can only imagine how hard it must be to rule on your own there in Arendelle, with only your Council to rely upon."

She had to keep her eyebrow from rising at this comment.

 _You had him there to_ support _you? Or to act as your_ figurehead  _while_ **you** _ruled?_

Elsa shrugged, ignoring her mind's musings. "It's not so bad," she said gently. "I've known many of my advisers since I was a girl, so I trust them." She smiled again. "Besides, I have Anna—my younger sister, the Princess—and she always . . . well, she  _usually_ listens."

Elsa sighed, then giggled, at the memory of Anna as a child, her big, blue eyes wide with wonder as she sat listening to her older sister tell her fairy tales before bedtime. "So I feel quite blessed, actually."

Therese listened to her in silence, and did not say anything afterward for a while, making Elsa slightly nervous. Then, all of a sudden, she smiled—but the smile was thin, and somehow tired.

"That's good," she said simply, rising from the bench. "That's very good."

Her voice sounded distant, compared to earlier— _cold,_  even.

"Is . . . is everything all right?" Elsa asked as she rose as well, unable to help but feel a  _little_ bit concerned—well,  _concerned_ might have been pushing it—or, at the very least,  _apprehensive_ at the change.

The Queen's smile was more relaxed as her eyes met Elsa's again. "I'm fine, dear girl," she said in the same, strangely  _tender_  manner as before. "I was just thinking . . . oh, it doesn't matter," she trailed off, waving her hand dismissively at the subject.

Elsa's brow rose, curious. "What is it?"

Therese stroked the petals of a lily pad floating in the lower bowl of the fountain, and she sat on the edge of its stone exterior, a thoughtful look gracing her features.

"It was nothing really, except . . . well, I think you're a fine young woman, Elsa, I really do," she paused, "but I . . . I worry for you."

The comment irritated Elsa, though she had to pretend otherwise.

 _You barely even_ know  _me; how could you be_ worried  _for me?_

"What do you mean?" she inquired innocently.

"Oh, it's nothing  _too_ serious," Therese assured her as she squared her shoulders and lifted herself from the stone, gesturing to Elsa to follow her as she continued along the path through the garden. "I only meant that—that I know what it's like, trying to prove yourself to the people as a young queen at the start of your reign," she explained, the moon casting a halo over her red tresses. "And I don't want you to have to go through what  _I_ went through, all those years ago."

Elsa's apprehension eased at this, if only slightly; her curiosity, once again, had gotten the better of her wariness.

"Was it very difficult for you, at first?"

The Queen glanced back with her shrewd, olive-coloured irises. "I suppose you've heard the stories about how I ascended to the throne," she drawled, and added, as if sensing Elsa's discomfort: "Don't worry, dear— _everyone_ has." She shrugged lightly. "I could hardly expect you to be ignorant of them before you arrived, anyway."

Therese's eyes were filled with dark amusement. "No doubt your  _trusted advisers_ would have informed you about me."

Elsa's face burned at the remark. "They . . . they did mention you, yes," she admitted softly, and thought of Kai's nervousness on the day before her departure—that day which now seemed a  _lifetime_  ago.

Therese chuckled, though there was little humour in the sound.

"Of course they did," she rejoined, and then sighed, defeated. "I suppose I have earned myself a bit of a nasty reputation over the years, deserved or not," she confessed, gazing up at the clear, starless night sky. "I'm not proud of everything I've done to secure my position—but then, I doubt any ruler is, really," she reflected, pausing. "Some sacrifices  _must_ be made for the greater good, after all."

Elsa's brow finally rose, somewhat incredulous.

_"Greater good"?_

She could practically hear Anna's snort of incredulity in her head as she mulled over the phrase, and that alone made her want to laugh,  _badly—_ but she had enough self-control to rein in that desire, sensing that the lull in the conversation indicated her duty to respond to the Queen's vague stories.

"Then why are—why do you think there  _are_ so many stories about you?"

Therese looked unbothered by the query, having probably expected it. "The same reason that there are countless rumours about the  _deadly and beautiful_  'Snow Queen of Arendelle,'" she said gently, observing how Elsa cringed at the reminder of her reputation. "People like to talk— _especially_ about those whom they are envious of."

In Elsa's tense silence, the Queen went on, and her next words held an edge of bitterness—and world-weariness—to them.

"Whether it be our beauty, our fame, or our fortunes—there will always be those in this great, wide world who wish for nothing more than to take  _everything_  away from us."

Her eyes tightened, and she closed them briefly. "I was like that too, once," she admitted, "when I was a young girl, living each day not knowing if I would have something to eat, or if I would ever be able to replace the rags I wore with proper clothes."

She breathed out, long and deep, and seemed calmer afterwards. "But I fought my way out—I fought with every  _fibre_ of my being—and here I am today," she concluded strongly, her eyes as solid as the marble of the palace. "The Queen of the Southern Isles, wife to the King, and mother to thirteen—" she paused, " _twelve_ princes."

Elsa crimsoned, not knowing what to say.

_Why . . . why is she telling me all of this?_

Therese finally turned to face Elsa again, her expression as firm as her voice.

"And I want  _you_ to fight too, Elsa," she said, her eyes pulsating with intensity as they bore into Elsa's. "I want you to be strong— _stronger,_  even, than I was then—and face them all without fear."

Elsa shook a little at those words.

_Didn't . . . didn't Gerda say the same thing?_

"They will question you, of course— _publicly,_ even—and they'll whisper behind your back, in your front, at your sides," Therese continued, her tone almost chilling. "They'll say you're not good enough—that you're not  _fit_ to be queen, using whatever excuses are most convenient—and they'll try to chip away at your confidence, bit by bit, until you start to believe it yourself."

Elsa's eyes widened at how stormy the Queen's stare had become—how  _terrifying,_ even—but she did not move away, frozen in place by the force of those dark, shimmering eyes.

 **His**   _eyes._

"But you shouldn't pay them any mind, Elsa—you  _can't,_ because the minute, no, the very  _second_ that you start to do so," she warned, drawing closer to the young queen, "you let them win—you let them have  _power_ over you."

She refrained from touching Elsa this time, as she'd done before—something the white-haired girl was thankful for, if nothing else—but her presence alone was unsettling enough.

"Therese, I . . ." Elsa trailed off, unsure.

"I'm sorry if I—if I've made you uneasy with all this," Therese said suddenly, drawing away from her. "I know it's not my place to offer up such advice, especially since we've only just met."

Elsa pinked.

_She's more self-aware than I gave her credit for._

"It's fine, really," she tried to reassure the Queen, though she knew she didn't sound very convincing. "I was just . . . surprised, I suppose." Her hands fidgeted as they clasped together in front of her. "At your being so—so  _open_ with me."

Therese smiled, her earlier passion fairly extinguished. "To be perfectly honest," she began, a touch of surprise in her own tone, "I wasn't expecting to be. In fact," she admitted with a small grin, "I thought I would dislike you, before we met."

Elsa blinked, taken aback by the admission.

"Dis— _dislike_  me?"

The Queen chuckled. "Well, I was aware of your powers and of your great beauty, of course, by your reputation," she said easily, "but I  _also_ knew the stories about the 'Orphan Princesses of Arendelle'—and how isolated you and your sister were before you became Queen."

Elsa felt it again—that creeping,  _crawling_ cold in her veins.

 _Not now, Elsa._ Not  _now._

"I'm ashamed to admit I was taken in by the rumours about you and your inexperience," Therese continued more contritely, "and I suppose that I—that I was  _resentful,_ in a sense, of how easily you appeared to ascend to your throne."

She regarded the Snow Queen's pale features warmly. "Now, of course, I can see how wrong I was—I can see how hard it has been on you, too."

She reached out a hand—seemingly to touch Elsa again—but it fell upon the branch of a short tree standing by them, and rested there.

"And, seeing that, I wanted to—to reach out to you in some way," her tone was kind, "and to reassure you that, in this world of  _men,_  you are not alone."

Elsa looked up at that, and her lips opened, as if to reply—but no words came out.

_You are not alone._

She closed them again after a moment, bowing her head.

 _I know what it's like, Elsa_.

Her eyes shut tight, her brow stitched in bemusement.

 _Don't let them have_ power  _over you._

Therese moved away from her, but not without lightly patting her on the shoulder first.

"I think it's best if we tried to get some rest, now," she remarked, and walked back towards the door to the cloister. "It's getting late, after all."

Elsa swallowed, her blue eyes opening again as she nodded.

"Of course."

 _You can't let them_ win _._

She followed Therese to the door, and the guardsmen all stepped through first on the Queen's command—leaving her and Elsa alone, for a brief moment, in the garden.

Therese smiled again, and her tight gaze was full of untold secrets.

"Remember, Elsa," she whispered, and her eyes blazed, " _never_ give in."


	8. Chapter 7: The Exile

# Chapter 7: The Exile

No matter how many times it happened—and it had happened too many times to count already that day—Hans was still incredulous at the notion that even  _eyebrows_ could sweat.

Not just sweat, no—practically  _drip_ with moisture.

He grimaced as he wiped it off with the inside of his arm, returning his attention to the task at hand.

_Just one more hour._

The already-full sack of apples slung across his chest was starting to cause his shoulder more pain than he would admit aloud, but he merely adjusted it with stony determination, continuing to pick more of the red fruits.

Not that he would have complained, were he able to; doing so, after all, would earn him nothing but the scorn of the overseers, not to mention his fellow exiles. He'd found that out the hard way during his first two months on the island, when one too many smart comments—or merely an eye-roll—had resulted in more than a couple black eyes and fractured ribs.

_Then the whistle blows._

His practiced hands glided from branch to branch in his work, and his feet easily balanced on the wooden ladder, though he was fairly high up. Having been a naval officer in his previous life, though, he supposed he'd never had much of a problem with heights. The ships he'd worked on in the past, anyway, had always had far less stable ladders, some made only of rope, to climb.

_You'll even get to take a bath today._

The prospect of being able to clean himself for the first time that week easily overrode any reminiscing about his previous life at sea, and even managed to bring a small, thin look of contentment to his tanned face.

_You're pathetic._

Not even that thought—frequent as it arose—could quell the feeling of anticipation he had for the occasion, imagining, even under the blistering heat of the late afternoon sun, how painfully he would scrub every inch of his skin in his weekly attempt to extricate himself from the perpetual state of griminess which he now inhabited.

_Not that it ever really_  does _anything._

He finally frowned at this mocking reminder by his eternally ungrateful brain, forcefully plucking the last apple off the branch in irritation.

_You'll be just as filthy again by the end of tomorrow's shift._

Too agitated to continue—and feeling the sack weighing him down more severely than before—he finally descended to dump the contents of it in a wheelbarrow nearby, keeping his expression as blank as possible lest the others catch wind of his foul mood.

_At least you're not cleaning the cow manure today._

He adjusted the ladder to reach another part of the same tree and ascended it again, wearing a grim look at the memory. He hadn't been able to wash that particular stench out of his clothes—or skin and hair—for several  _weeks_ after he'd slipped and fallen into a pile of it by accident, and the others had done nothing but give him grief for the incident, constantly reminding him of how badly he stunk.

 _As if I didn't_ know _that._

He could have sighed in relief at the brief respite his torso had been allowed, now that the sack was empty again; however, when he thought he caught a contemptuous look from one of the other labourers in the grove, he quickly began to fill it.

_It feels . . ._ endless.

It didn't seem to matter that it had now been nearly a year since he'd first been exiled to that horrid place, nor that he was, in some ways,  _used_ to it there. The time still passed like thick sand through an hourglass with the thinnest neck ever crafted, and  _nothing_ —not the changing seasons, the shorter days, the routine of farm labour—made it go by any faster.

In fact, in some ways, the labour itself felt like the slowest part. Under the puritanical leadership of the Queen's "distant relations"—or "your Aunt Agnes and Uncle Edvard," as she had told Hans on the day he was sent off—the workers were allowed few of the "distractions" (as they called them) that normal farmhands traditionally used to pass the time, such as singing simple country songs, talking amongst each other, or even just gawking at pretty girls as they passed by.

(Not that the latter was even possible, since his  _dear_ "Aunt and Uncle" only took on male labourers—another policy, he was sure, that was meant to further suck any  _hint_ of normalcy from their lives.)

He nearly glowered to think that "Aunt" Agnes had been the only woman he'd seen since he stepped foot on Vollan Island all those months ago. Combined with the dull ache that was beginning to make itself known in his shoulders again, that fact filled him with a kind of impotent aggravation.

_And she's not even attractive in the slightest_.

The older woman and her husband were as common-looking as two farmers could be, with dark hair, dark eyes, and burnt, red skin from many years spent outside in the sun. It was only after the Queen had arranged for her youngest son—the  _traitor prince—_ to be cast out to their island that they acquired a bit of wealth in return, and now, as a result, they took great pleasure in retiring from outdoor work, leaving it to their free labour while they grew fat and lazy.

 _I'm_ certain  _they're not even related to her._

Even knowing that the Queen had come from low origins, he didn't see how she could have, in any way, been connected to  _them_. For one thing, her appearance—the same one she had passed down to him—did not resemble theirs even a  _little_ bit, nor did her taste for fine wine, good food, and beautiful dresses.

Nonetheless, he had long since stopped wondering what debt the Queen might owe these plain, boring people to claim them as her own, let alone to ensure that they were living "comfortably," since doing so only managed to work him up into a fit of annoyance.

More to the point, his bitterness towards the Queen had generally waxed and waned over the months in as predictable a fashion as the moon, though recently he had been actively trying to shove it down. It was too difficult, otherwise, to keep up the pretense of the "good worker bee"—and that was the one he relied upon most to survive in that harsh environment.

 _They can_ smell  _arrogance here, after all._

On the rare occasion that he  _had_ let his frustration with the situation get to him—when he'd let it dig at him over a number of days, and even months, before finally bursting in a spit of anger or a fist in the face of one of the brutes he had the misfortune of working with—he had paid for it dearly.

One incident, in fact, had resulted in a concussion that had kept him confined to a flea-infested straw bed for nearly a week before he had practically dragged himself from that dark, putrid room back to the fields, desperate to see the sun (though the light caused his head  _violent_ pains). Needless to say, when he'd encountered the man who'd given him the blow leading to that condition the next day, he'd made  _sure_ to keep his mouth shut.

 _Not that it matters whether I speak or stay silent—they'll_ always _hate me._

Although he had been told that he would be treated the same as any of the other prisoners on the boat ride to Vollan, with no belongings, money, or history to his name, his fate had been well-broadcast enough throughout the Isles by the time he arrived to raise the ire of the existing inmates.

He wasn't sure if it was his former title or his royal airs that bothered them the most, at first—probably a combination of the two, he suspected—but he had  _immediately_ been singled out upon stepping foot in the colony, and learned his place among them quickly enough (save for the occasional "incident," of course).

Over time, their utter disdain for the Thirteenth Prince of the Southern Isles had abated into a general sort of malaise with his presence; still, he had the sense that they could never fully accept him there, as they forever viewed him as a thankless, spoiled brat who threw away a life of easy riches in a futile attempt to pursue an even  _richer_ existence.

_They're not unlike my own family, in that regard._

He held back a snort at the thought, his eyes narrowing as the pain in his shoulders—and his arms, now, too—flared up again, nearly making him wince. He grit his teeth and glanced down at the sack, full of apples, and descended the ladder for what seemed the hundredth time that day.

And as he reached the last rung of the ladder, the whistle blew—much to his surprise.

_It's already over?_

He supposed that sometimes, the minutes flew by faster than he gave them credit for, and shrugged a little to himself as he walked over to the barrow—only to find it being carted off just as he'd positioned his sack over it.

"Better luck next time," spat Arne, one of the more hostile men he worked with, as he roughly walked off with the wheelbarrow, some of his goons sneering at Hans as they made their way back to the farmhouse.

The former prince barely kept himself from scowling, adjusting the strap of the sack with unflinching resolve as he folded the ladder and tucked it under his arm with some effort.

 _At least this work has made me stronger,_ he thought, though that was hardly enough to console him as he trudged back, wiping sweat from his face with his free hand.

He looked down for a moment, his gaze hardening.

_This used to be my sword hand._

If there was one thing he missed about his life before Vollan—really,  _truly_ missed—it was the exhilaration of holding glinting steel in his fist. Sparring with his fellow crew on the deck of a ship or practicing by his lonesome in the palace training grounds had been one of his favourite past-times, and in the rare instances when he'd actually been able to use his skills in combat, he'd gotten a sort of thrill out of it that was nearly impossible to replicate by any other means.

_But then . . . that's how I got into this mess, isn't it?_

He could still remember how powerful he had felt in that moment—that moment when he'd swung the sword down as hard as he could, expecting the blade to slice effortlessly through the Ice Queen's pale, vulnerable neck—and his chest tightened at the memory.

 _You were a fool then, Hans, and you're a fool_ now.

It was easy to see, in retrospect, how incredibly  _stupid_ he had been; he'd spent enough time, anyway, going over each moment of those days in Arendelle in painstaking detail to realise when and how everything had gone horribly wrong.

 _There's no point in reliving it over and over_   _again._

After all, what was done was done—and there he was, caked with dirt, stinking of sweat and burnt skin and who knew what else for the rest of his days as a result.

_Still . . . why did she do it?_

In spite of his determination to put it behind him, he felt continually nagged by a sense of bemusement—and, frankly,  _annoyance—_ at the knowledge that he was only in that hellish place as a result of the direct intervention by the Ice Queen herself.  _She_  had been the one to request his change in sentence from lifelong imprisonment to, instead, a lifetime of hard labour in exile—a change of fate that he had, over many months, come to appreciate less and less.

 _Is this_ really _better than prison?_

He doubted that, even knowing how awful the cells for those who committed violent crimes were purported to be. Somehow, he'd always thought that he'd end up in one of the "nicer" prisons within the royal palace reserved for one of the many courtiers that'd had the bad luck to fall out of the Queen's good graces. Even knowing what cruelty she and his brothers were capable of, he never actually  expected that they would cast him into a cell alongside  _real_ murderers and rapists if they had the chance.

 _Then again,_ he reminded himself morosely as he finally reached the farmhouse,  _none of them have inquired after me even_ once  _since I was dumped here._

It was this fact that made him rethink where his family would banish him to, had they gotten their way; perhaps, he reluctantly considered, the Queen of Arendelle had been correct in her judgment.

He glared at the notion as he propped up the ladder alongside the others in the building, his feet rustling the straw beneath them as he unceremoniously emptied the contents of his sack into the wheelbarrow by the haystacks. He rolled his shoulders a little as he finally shrugged off the sack, hanging it on a peg on the wall, where it would wait until the next day's toil.

But even if some part of him could accept that this was better than prison—after all, he could breathe in the fresh air, get plenty of exercise, and sleep on something other than a stone plank—his feeling of  _irritation_  towards the decision of the young queen to "intercede on his behalf" had never fully gone away.

 _And it's that pride that will keep you as_ invisible  _as you are now._

He stalked back to his quarters with a decidedly more unpleasant expression, his emerald eyes brooding.

 _As invisible_   _as you always_ have  _been._

* * *

Hans breathed out a slow, relaxed sigh as he soaked in the cast-iron tub, his eyes closing.

_Finally._

He was there at last, after spending too many hours feeding the assorted animals, and then eating a bit of dinner later in the evening than usual. The latter had been, as always, a dull affair, sitting by his lonesome at the end of one of the long communal tables and forcing himself to eat his ration of chicken, soup, and bread as slowly as possible.

Even after all of that, it didn't matter to him that the water was only changed after every third (sometimes fourth or fifth) bather, each equally as grubby as himself—nor that it had become, as a result, somewhat murky before he'd even had the chance to step foot in it. Even the fact that the water had already gone somewhat cold couldn't take away his enjoyment of that short, precious time he had in the washroom, and he grabbed the bar of soap and a rough scrub from the shelf.

_At least they don't hide them from me anymore._

In the first few months of his exile, the others had been incredibly petty in their hostility towards him. Whether it was stealing food from his plate during mealtimes, tripping him while he was carrying a heavy load of crops or wood, or hiding the soap and scrub in the washroom before he got there—and thus rendering him incapable of  _actually_ cleaning himself—they had ensured that he would fall in line fast.

All he'd really had to do, in the end, was be patient; and while patience had never been one of his virtues, he had waited it out until, eventually, they grew bored of tormenting him. There were still the occasional snipes, of course—the apple cart being a prime example—but they were insignificant, and did little more than temporarily inconvenience him.

_I've dealt with far worse before, anyway._

He supposed he had his older brothers to thank for his high tolerance of these pranks, taunts, and schemes. Without their  _training_ him, the attempts by the halfwits on Vollan to provoke him might have succeeded far more often than they actually did.

He scrubbed his skin hard at the thought of his siblings, a sneer working its way into his features as he remembered their irritating, selfish faces. In a way, he was glad to be rid of them all, even if it meant that he was stuck on an island out in the middle of nowhere, slaving away at farming crops which were intended for  _their_  consumption.

He grimaced in pain when he scrubbed one spot in particular on his forearm a little too roughly, the skin there turning a bright shade of red. Tenderly he dropped that arm to his side and focused on the other parts of his body with more precision—and, this time,  _without_  thinking about his family, as it seemed to be the one thing that always managed to distract him from the task at hand.

It wasn't long before there came a loud, impatient knocking on the door, and he sighed again as he placed the soap and scrub back up on the shelf, drawing himself reluctantly out of the tub.

_Seems like less time than usual, today._

The knocking started again as he dried himself off with a sheet, and he frowned at the sound, pulling on his clothes from a chair nearby as quickly as he could.

 _They can't wait even a_ minute  _longer, can they?_

At last, once he'd put on a clean change of garments—a white, long-sleeved shirt with a tan vest on top, brown trousers, and dark brown boots—he made his way to the door, opening it as calmly as he could.

He had to refrain from scowling at Arne, next in line; doing so, however, was difficult when he saw the man smirk smugly back at him, stepping past the former prince with a fresh bucket of hot water to bathe in following him.

 _I_ would  _be the last man before the change,_ he thought bitterly, but kept it from his face as he walked down the hall from the washroom back to the sleeping quarters. He passed a few others still waiting their turn, wanting to claim that as some sort of little victory for himself—after all, he used to be last  _every_ time.

The reality was, though, that he rarely took comfort in such trivial triumphs, even over the men he disliked the most. There didn't seem to be much of a point when, in the end, he would be returning to the same cramped, uncomfortable, shared room with the others, trying to sleep through the night without being awoken by violent snorers, sleepwalkers, or sleep- _talkers._

This skill of being able to sleep soundly had, in fact, been one of the most difficult to acquire, since he'd been a light sleeper for as long as he could remember. It had been a kind of defensive mechanism growing up, giving him a few seconds—or even a few minutes—in advance before his brothers tried to spring some trick on him in the middle of the night. Often he had been able to escape just in the nick of time, crawling out his window or hiding in some remote part of his bedroom where they (usually) didn't find him.

By contrast, his bunkmates on the farm were usually too worn out, like him, by the end of the working day to do much besides spit out some nasty remark or other; still, it had taken many months before he'd been able to get more than a couple hours of sleep at night.

_It's not as if I sleep much_ now _, though._

It was late, he realised as he glanced out the window by the mess hall—later than he'd thought it was—and he breathed out resignedly, his eyes falling to the floor.

_But there's nothing else to do._

He ran a hand through his still-wet hair, then scratched his stubbly face—which, had he been allotted more time in the washroom, he would have properly shaved—and then shuddered a little when he realised how tightly his clothes clung to his equally damp skin.

 _Well, they'll dry soon enough,_ he told himself, shrugging. Though the sun had long since set, the nights were still warm that time of year, and he could already feel some of the water evaporate off him as he reached the end of the hall and opened the door to the bunks.

It smelled  _slightly_ better than usual in the room on account of it being bath night, though not enough to rid it of its permanent, stale scent. Although most of the men were already asleep, a few remained awake—but even these only talked quietly amongst themselves, read the religious texts left for them by his "aunt and uncle" (the only such texts allowed in the whole place), or stared into space, doing nothing at all.

He himself preferred the latter of these options, since he couldn't be bothered to converse with any of the fools he lived with (frankly, his trusted horse, Sitron, had been far better company—and  _oh, how he missed him then!)_  and he had read and re-read those same, boring books so many times by then that he could recite them practically by heart—not that he had any desire to do so.

 _If I did, I might spoil what happens next for these cretins,_ he thought, hiding a smug grin as he watched some of them slowly mouth out the words in the book to themselves in silence.

He landed with a  _thud_ on his back after climbing up to his bunk, and he shut his eyes for a moment, breathing in (through his mouth of course, lest he ruin the moment) the humid night air. Even knowing that the eyes of the others were on him all the while—likely narrowed, with spite buried deep in their squinty irises—he simply didn't care.

 _I_ can't  _care,_ he corrected himself after a moment, fighting to keep his eyes closed as his forehead wrinkled.  _I can't let them have_ power  _over me._

With that mantra replaying itself in his head, he began to give in to sleep; nevertheless, he could still hear the Queen's voice, sharp and clear as daylight, ringing in his ears.

 _You can't let them win_ ,  _Hans._

* * *

A rough shove in his side woke him up a few hours later, and Hans nearly hit the ceiling in surprise.

 _"What—what do you_ want?" he hissed groggily, placing a hand protectively against the back of his head. He peered into the darkness with bleary eyes—though, in truth, he was more concerned that the others hadn't awoken than he was with finding out whom, exactly, had so rudely jabbed him.

 _They'll be_ intolerable  _tomorrow if they don't sleep._

Once he had confirmed that, for the most part, no one else was up, his eyes finally focused back on the intruder, his gaze narrowing in recognition.

 _"Well, if it isn't_ Uncle  _Edvar—"_

 _"Come on,"_ the man snapped impatiently, cutting off Hans's attempt to be smart.  _"I don't have time for your_ insolence _ right now."_

Hans was sorely tempted to return the order with something equally rude; however, seeing the grave look on the man's face, he refrained at the last moment, biting back a sigh as he swung his legs over the side of the bed, climbing down as quietly as he could.

 _Good thing I fell asleep before I could change,_ he thought as he landed on the ground.  _Would've been too noisy, otherwise._

He straightened out his vest—something of an old habit he'd never been able to kick, he supposed, though it  _hardly_ required the constant maintenance of a formal jacket—and ignored the dirty look his "uncle" shot him as the man turned around to open the door.

Just before he could follow Edvard out the door, however, he locked stares with none other than Arne in the darkness—that loathsome, lumbering  _toad_ of a man—and the look in the brute's eyes was easy to read.

 _I'll make you pay for this,_ Prince.

He merely smirked back, knowing it would infuriate the idiot; somehow, walking through that door after Edvard gave him the smallest feeling of  _power_  over the others, even if he didn't actually know what the point of the visit was—nor  _where,_  exactly, they were headed.

His smirk dropped as this fact dawned more pressingly upon him, though he followed the man in front all the same as they left the farmhouse and crossed a small field to the main house, entering through a side door.

Hans's brow furrowed as they stepped inside, his eyes suddenly suspicious.

 _Why are we in the_ main  _house?_

He had only ever been inside once, on the day of his arrival, when his "relatives" informed him of what would be expected of him on Vollan and what behaviour they would (and would  _not)_ tolerate. Since then, it was completely off-limits to the exiles, though the smell of good food and the heat of warm fires during winter often wafted outdoors, driving them all near-mad with resentment and envy.

Needless to say, then, that to be brought to the main house—and in the  _middle of the night—_ was a strange thing indeed, though he hardly had the time to ask what the purpose of the bizarre rendezvous was before he found himself being led into the sitting room, and there, in front of him, was . . .

He swallowed.

**"M—mother."**

The Queen of the Southern Isles sat with a nonchalant expression in an armchair by the unlit fireplace, and "Aunt" Agnes stood just across from her with a tray, a pot of tea and some bread sitting atop it.

She turned to her son with slight surprise as she took in his appearance.

"My, how you've  _changed!"_  she remarked lightly, and gestured for Agnes to set the tray down by her on a small table. Her eyes remained on Hans as his "aunt" poured the tea. "Tan, strong, and . . . did you grow  _taller,_ as well?"

She daintily lifted her cup as Agnes walked away, and the common woman sent Hans a reproving glare as she returned to watch the proceedings from the other side of the room.

The Queen gave his "uncle" an approving smile. "You've done well with him, Edvard," she complimented him, sipping her tea. "You've been working him hard, I hope?"

The man nodded humbly—something Hans was  _sure_ he would never see again—before he replied.

"We do the best we can with what we were given, Your Majesty," he said simply, "but I'm honoured you should think that we've done well."

The scene reminded Hans more of someone purchasing a particularly nice cut of lamb from the butcher's than a mother seeing her son after many months apart, and his lip curled.

"Why are you here,  _Your Majesty?"_ He crossed his arms, staring back at her spitefully. "Simply to gloat?" A cruel grin tugged at his lips. "Or has the old man finally kicked the bucket?"

The Queen's good humour vanished for a moment, her gaze coldly regarding him. After a pause, she calmly rested the cup back on the tray, and looked sweetly upon his "aunt" and "uncle."

"Edvard, Agnes," she said gently, her hands primly folded in her lap, "would you mind leaving us?"

He nearly scoffed at her kind tone, his nose wrinkling with an unbidden sneer.

 _Maybe one day I'll be as good an actor as you,_   _mother_ dearest.

The two bowed with stony expressions and departed the room, closing the door quietly behind them.

Even when left alone, however—and contrary to his own expectations—the Queen remained just as mild as before, and gestured to the chair across from her.

"Please sit, Hans."

He frowned. "I'd rather not."

Her lip twitched at this, and he smirked.

_Good. Let's stop playing pretend, shall we?_

"Oh, don't be stubborn, dear," she persisted. "Just  _sit."_

There was an edge to that last word, and that small reveal was enough to convince him, finally, to do as she asked.

She smiled, satisfied. "That's better, now, isn't it?"

He stared back, uninterested in her false niceties. "I don't have time for your  _games,_ Mother," he said bluntly, watching as her expression dropped. "Just get to the point."

"My, aren't we  _impatient_ tonight," she tutted, sipping her tea as she gestured to the bread on the tray. "Won't you have some? I'm  _sure_  they don't feed you enough here," she added knowingly, a fierce glint in her stare—the stare, he knew, that was so much like his own.

He looked away, ignoring the complaining of his stomach. "I'm fine."

She sighed as she placed the cup back down again. "If you say so."

He glared at her.

 _You can't fool_ me,  _Your Majesty._

"So I'll ask you again— _why_ are you here?"

The Queen looked up at him at this repeated question, and their gazes met for a while in silence.

In hers, he could see a real, lingering darkness—a quiet one, but there nonetheless—and he wondered if, in fact, he had been right about the King.

 _After all,_ he mused,  _why_ else  _would she bother to come here in person, unless—_

His eyes widened slightly, and then narrowed again.

_Perhaps it isn't the King, but one of my brothers?_

He wanted to say that the possibility of that being the case bothered him, even a little; the truth, of course, was that it didn't faze him in the slightest.

"You're aware that the Queen of Arendelle is visiting our humble homeland, I presume?"

He froze at the question.

 _The Queen of Arende—_ **Elsa** _is visiting?_

His gaze hardened after the shock abated. "You  _know_  I wasn't," he said, his mouth suddenly feeling dry.

She shrugged indifferently at his accusing tone. "Well, I wasn't sure if news of her visit had travelled this  _far_ south," she returned with a lilting taunt in her voice, holding back a smile. "But no matter. Now you know. In fact," she continued, "she arrived earlier this afternoon at the port of Strande."

He swallowed at the revelation. "Did she?" he asked flatly.

The Queen went on with a pleasant expression, though she watched her son's obvious discomfort with keen eyes throughout.

"Yes! I sent some of your brothers to meet her there and bring her back to the palace, where we gave her a tour, fed her dinner, had a ball," her eyes flashed with amusement, "but she went back to her quarters a bit earlier than expected—she was quite tired from the long day, I suspect, the poor dear."

She couldn't help but stare at him with a kind of cruel enjoyment as she added: "It's a good thing we gave her  _your_  old room, refitted with all the newest and most beautiful furnishings a guest of honour could desire." A small but Cheshire grin pulled at the edges of her pink lips. "I'm sure she's sleeping soundly there right now, having  _peaceful_  dreams."

Hans's bare hands twitched in his lap before he clasped them firmly together.

_She's just trying to get a rise out of you._

His brow furrowed.

 _Don't give her that kind of satisfaction_.

He looked up at her with a grim expression.

 _Don't give her that_ power  _over you._

"And what does any of this have to do with  _me?"_

The Queen seemed surprised, at first, by the question; then, her smile relaxed into a more genuine one, her eyes cool but interested.

"You really  _have_ grown up a bit, haven't you, Hans?" she remarked, a little impressed. "Well, better late than  _never_ , I suppose."

He regarded her coldly, and said nothing.

 _Don't let her_ win.

"Fine, fine," she said after a minute, taking another sip of her now lukewarm tea. "I'll 'get to the point,' as you so  _crudely_  put it earlier."

She paused to look him straight in the eye, and her expression was  _finally_ entirely serious. "As you might have guessed," she began again, "her visit to the kingdom did not just happen by some happy accident—we had sent her several letters over the course of the past year inviting her to court, in fact, making sure, in  _every_ instance, to emphasise that  **you** were being properly punished for your crimes—and that, should she choose to visit,  **you**  would be  _nowhere_ near the palace."

He merely raised a tired eyebrow at how forcefully she spoke.

"Yes, we get it— _I'm_  the bad guy;  _I'm_ the reason Queen Elsa refused to return your letters for so long," he commented dryly. "But now she's here, so . . . obviously I wasn't  _that_ much of an obstacle, now was I?"

The Queen glared at her son. "Enough to delay her for nearly a  _year,"_ she returned, irritated. "Anyway," she continued, brushing off the interruption, "our continued assurances to the Queen  _no doubt_ played an important role in her eventual decision—and we had  _assumed,_ upon her arrival, that she was still comfortable with the arrangements as stated in our correspondence over the past two months or so."

His brow furrowed in bemusement. "What do you mean?"

The look she gave him in reply was indecipherable; and he, unable to read it, assumed the worst, his face turning ashen.

 _She wants me_ dead.

His mother snorted suddenly, jolting him out of his frightened stupor.

"Oh please, Hans—don't look so  _traumatised." _ She looked entertained by his pale features. "It's nothing like  _that."_  She added mysteriously, after a moment: "Actually, it's . . . quite the opposite."

Some colour returned to his face, though he felt as puzzled as before by her cryptic words.

"What—what do you mean, 'the opposite'?" he managed finally, his eyes tight.

She smoothed back a strand of her auburn hair that had gotten loose from its braid, and eyed him with a sudden, penetrating intensity.

"She wants you to return to court."

He stared at her uncomprehendingly.

_What?_

She continued as if she hadn't just said the most absurd thing in the world, speaking in an almost  _infuriatingly  _casual manner.

"Yes, well, I was just as surprised as you, at first," she said, looking into the distance as she recalled the incident, "especially since she made the request so suddenly, and in front of all the court!" The Queen's expression betrayed her admiration for the young woman. "It was quite remarkable, really."

Hans's face heated at the remark, hardly processing his mother's babble.

 _She . . . asked for me to come back? Today? In front of the_ entire  _court?_

"Of course your father and I tried to dissuade her from such a course of action, but she would not be persuaded otherwise." She gazed thoughtfully down at her tea, which she now took up again in her hands. "She really is a determined young lady, that  _Snow Queen_ of Arendelle."

_A "determined young lady"?_

It was too unfathomable in every possible respect—Queen Elsa being at the court of the Southern Isles, announcing that she wanted the traitor prince to return, and somehow charming his mother, the indomitable Southern Queen, all at once—and so he shook his head, wincing.

"And did she . . . explain  _why_ she would make such a request?" he grit out after a time, glaring up at her. He had forgotten, evidently, how talking to his mother could be like pulling teeth.

She breathed out her nose at the question, annoyed by his tone. "She  _did_ , actually," she said, and relaxed a little. "It was something . . . something about how she wanted to 'face the past' and 'move forward with confidence,' if I remember correctly."

The coy smile that he hated returned to her unnaturally youthful face. "And with a reason like that—how could we refuse her?"

His hand moved to ruffle his red hair in frustrated incomprehension.

 _She wants to "face the past"? "Move forward"? What does that even_ mean?

His brow darkened, and a look of realisation passed over his features.

 _She just wants to_ use  _me—to see me face-to-face and "prove herself," or some useless_ drivel  _like that._

"And so what? You've come to collect me so that I can  _entertain_  the Queen for a few weeks, and then you'll dump me back here, just as before?" he deadpanned disbelievingly.

Dark amusement flitted across his mother's irises. "Something like that," she replied simply.

He went cold at this, though he didn't allow himself to shudder.

 _Not in front of_ her.

His jaw tightened.

 _She sees_ everything,  _after all._

"And what  _exactly_ am I meant to do?" he inquired sarcastically. "Stand around like one of your useless Royal Guardsmen while she . . . ' _faces the past'?"_ He sneered at the idea, leaning back in the chair and resting his head tensely in his hand. "It all sounds  _incredibly_ thrilling, Mother, but you'll understand if I have to refuse, of course."

The Queen scowled instantly, and Hans grinned.

_Oh—that seems to have hit a nerve. Good._

"Don't be stupid,  _boy,"_ she snapped, setting her now-empty cup back on the tray more harshly than before. "You have no choice in the matter."

His eyes narrowed at her just as viciously. "Of course I don't," he retorted. "I never  _have_ had one."

She laughed, suddenly—an icy, short  _bark_  of a laugh that raised hairs on the back of his neck—and her scowl returned full-force afterwards.

"Don't be so  _dramatic,_ Hans," she reproached him, her teeth baring themselves unattractively as she spoke. "You did this to  _yourself,_ and thenceforth you will suffer the consequences of your actions."

He quietly glowered back at her, after this; in his silence, she went on, and her words cut into him savagely.

"You should have been satisfied with what you had—and you already had the  _world_ at your fingertips," she said, her disappointment thick. "But  _no_ —you had to go and be the ungrateful  _brat_ that you are, and ruin any chance you might have had for lasting contentment."

Enflamed by her castigation, he suddenly felt unrepentant. "And what was that 'contentment,' Mother? Marrying some grovelling courtier's daughter like my brothers and remaining in this little,  _insignificant_  kingdom for the rest of my days? Watching as those same brothers occupied every  _meaningless_ position of power, leaving me with no chance of ever even achieving success on their  _pathetic_ level?"

His scowl was just as fierce as hers then, and just as stubborn. "At least I  _tried_ to reach for something better—and  _you_ , of all people, should understand that."

She looked unimpressed by his speech, her tone just as harshly judgmental as before.

"Yes, you tried—and you  **failed**."

It was a bitter reminder—bitter enough, even, to make him drop his petulant façade, if only for a moment.

 _You're a_ failure,  _Hans—and that's all you'll ever be._

She sighed suddenly, taking him off-guard. He guessed that she had read the defeat in his eyes.

"It's a pity, you know," she said regretfully, not looking at him. "If you had only been a bit more persistent, you could have won the heart of the Snow Queen herself."

He scoffed at the notion. "You obviously don't know her that well to say something so  _naïve."_

She raised a sceptical eyebrow. "And did  _you_ ever really 'know her that well' before you wrote her off as a lost cause, Hans?" she challenged him, frowning. "You were far too impatient—but, I suppose," she said resignedly, "that you must have inherited that  _unfortunate_ trait from me."

Hans snorted. "Impatient or not, it doesn't take long to realise one, _simple_ fact about  _Queen_   _Elsa_  of Arendelle," he remarked bitterly, and snapped:

"That  _no one_ can really love her—since she can't even love  **herself**."

The Queen stared back at him then with eyes that could freeze the sun.

"If you honestly believe that," she said stonily, "then you're even more of a fool than I thought possible."

She rose from her chair after a tense moment, her hands still folded in front of her as neatly as before. "Now come," she said stiffly, and walked towards the door, "our ship is waiting at the beach."

Hans shook a little, seeing how quickly she had shifted in her personalities once again; somehow, he managed to stand his ground.

"No," he refused. "I'm not going."

She whipped back around and walked up to him until they were mere inches from each other, her hands dangerously coiled at her sides.

"You  _will_  follow me,  **now** ," she repeated, her tone more threatening than he had ever heard it before, "or so help me, I will put you in the dungeons, where you  _belong—_ and this time, I'll make certain that no  _plea_ from Queen Elsa will save you from the miserable fate you deserve."

He could see that she was waiting, then—her brutal, unflinching stare boring into his own—and though he desperately wanted to defeat her, to finally  _overcome_ her unbearable force of will . . . he merely averted his gaze from hers, and said nothing.

_I can't win. Not this time._

Mollified by this, she turned back around again, opened the door, and exchanged a few words with Agnes and Edvard in quiet out in the hall. Soon after, she gestured rudely for her son to follow, and he did, not sparing his "distant relations" even a parting glance.

_I'll see them soon enough, anyway._

They exited the house through the main entrance, where a group of Royal Guardsmen waited in stoic silence. He recognised a few, though they only returned his glances with looks of disapproval and disgust; he easily shrugged those off, turning his gaze instead back to the front of the group, where a carriage was being readied.

The Queen glanced back at Hans briefly before gesturing for him to step inside the carriage after her, and the guards made a point not to assist him.

He nearly rolled his eyes.

 _As if I need help getting into a_ carriage.

It was a strange feeling, nonetheless, since he couldn't remember the last time he had ridden a horse, much less ridden inside a vehicle  _pulled_ by horses. His mother, however, didn't seem to care in the least that he might have had some trouble adjusting back to this reality, and spoke suddenly as the journey to the beach began at a bumpy, rapid pace.

"You're to live in the servants' quarters for the duration of Queen Elsa's visit," she informed him brusquely, "and you're to bathe and shave once we arrive back on Strande, after which you will be given a change of clothes to wear while at court."

He looked out the window of the carriage sullenly.  _Oh, joy. New clothes—likely also made for_ peasants.

"You will remain confined to your room and under constant surveillance by several members of the Guard outside of any events during which the Queen  _specifically_  requests your presence," she continued, ignoring his brooding look, "and you will likewise be under watch at these events, whether they be dinners, or balls, or lectures."

"I sound like quite a handful," he observed mockingly, earning a sharp glare.

"And  _if,"_ she cautioned, "the Queen at any time feels uncomfortable on account of your temper or  _language_  towards her, you may rest assured that I'll have you on the next boat back to Vollan."

Her brow lifted. "Is that understood?"

He was too angry to look at her.  _"Yes,"_  he replied nastily, scowling.

Her lips were thin, and her expression fraught with aggravation.

"Say it  **properly** , Hans."

He turned to her, finally, and his teeth set in a hard line.

"Yes,  _Your Majesty."_


	9. Chapter 8: The Façade

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is allll Therese, alll the time, and some Elsa inner angst because reasons. In the future, however, if my schedule in real life gets clogged up and writing full chapters on time becomes difficult, I may do "interludes" with short stories about Hans's brothers (how they met their wives, their relationships with Therese growing up, Hans's childhood, more insight into Hans's time in exile, excerpts from the year in-between the events of Frozen and Winter's End in Arendelle, and more about Therese and Oskar). If you guys are okay with this idea, let me know!
> 
> Lastly, stay up-to-date with all the latest news, reviews, fanart and headcanons for Winter's End at the following link: www.calenheniel.tumblr.com/tagged/WintersEndFrozen.

# Chapter 8: The Façade

She tried not to stare at Therese too much—or for too  _long_ —over breakfast the next morning.

 _And I want_ you  _to fight too, Elsa._

She sipped her tea, but nearly burnt her tongue on it; as a result, the liquid froze over inside the cup, and her brow furrowed in consternation as she set it down again, trying to look as impassive as ever.

"Did you sleep well, Your Majesty?" one of the younger twins—Emil, she believed his name was—inquired from down the table.

 _I want you to be_  strong.

She managed a nod, though she gripped her utensils more tightly than intended in her gloved hands.

"Very well, thank you," she replied.

_You can't pay them any mind, Elsa._

His twin, Henrik, smiled at her. "We're glad to hear it," he returned, and added gently: "Is Sir Leif feeling better?"

Elsa glanced at the empty chair next to her, and looked embarrassed by her adviser's absence. Considering how drunk he had probably gotten the night before, though, she supposed it was a good thing he was still in bed.

"He's well, thank you for asking," she said simply, not wanting to elaborate.

_Face them all without fear._

"Well, if he needs to rest for the morning, that's perfectly fine," the Queen added, presenting a pleasant smile to her guest. "I'm sure we can arrange a tour of the library or some other facility within the palace for him when he awakens."

Elsa bowed her head gratefully. "That would be most kind of you."

The King's smile matched his wife's. "The room was to your liking, then?"

 _Remember, Elsa—_ never  _give in._

She swallowed a bit of potato without chewing, and her face reddened from the effort of keeping the food down without choking. She glanced up at the King's bemused expression as she calmed herself down, ignoring the painful feeling in her throat.

"Yes, very much so," she answered, plastering on a smile. "It felt like—like home."

Therese's look betrayed only a hint of scepticism. "Well, that was our aim," she said, smiling warmly at the King. "We're happy to hear that we succeeded, at least, in this regard."

Elsa wasn't sure if she was supposed to reply to that—and really, she had no desire to, since her throat was sore—but before she could think of something to say, another voice interceded.

"And what about  _you,_ Mother?" Tor asked, darkly amused. "Did you . . . 'sleep well,' too?"

Therese reddened, irritated; and Elsa noticed, suddenly, that beneath a layer of thick makeup, the outlines of deep, dark circles were just visible under the Queen's emerald eyes.

"Don't be  _flippant,_ Tor," she rebuked the young man, buttering her breakfast roll agitatedly. "I slept  _very_  well, thank you."

His expression didn't change as he leaned on the table, staring at her just as impudently as before.

"Really? Because you seem  _exhausted."_

Finally, the Queen glared at her son, unable to contain her ire. "I'm  _fine,"_ she repeated thinly, meeting his stare—and their eyes locked for what seemed an eternity—until finally, Tor looked away, seemingly bored with the contest.

Therese's cheeks were still pinked with embarrassment when she faced Elsa. "I apologise for my son's . . .  _bad temper,"_ she said, an edge to her words. "It seems that he cannot behave, even when we have  _honoured guests_ sitting at our table."

He snorted at her accusing tone, and she glowered at the sound—but he didn't bother to look back at her, and so Therese relented, sighing as she daintily nibbled on her buttered bread.

Elsa watched with a mixture of fascination and disinterest—the former borne as a natural reaction to the curious proceedings, and the latter of her general state of distractedness. After all, she had hardly been able to get her head around the events of the night previous—let  _alone_  to try and decipher every little nasty barb or look exchanged between the members of the Southern Isles clan.

_There's just too many of them._

She found her gaze once more drawn to the Queen sitting across from her, the woman's eyes oddly meditative as they focused on her food and drink.

 _Did it . . . did it even_ happen?

She had been wondering that, in truth, ever since she'd returned to her bedroom the night before. However, sitting in such close proximity to the woman with whom she'd shared that somewhat  _surreal_  experience, she knew the answer to that question.

 _Of_ course _it did._

Elsa quickly bit into a soft, sweet roll just as Therese's eyes shifted up again, making certain that their gazes did not meet.

 _And she—she said_ all  _of those things, too._

She didn't know whether to feel moved by the Queen's sage words of advice, offered so freely (and with such seemingly genuine affection)—or to feel even  _more_ intimidated than she had been at their first meeting by the woman's incredibly sharp insight into Elsa's character, speculative as it was. It had all just been too  _eerie,_ Elsa supposed, to feel comfortable with—especially when she considered that the Queen . . . that the Queen—

— _said the same thing that_ Anna  _did before I left Arendelle._

Even more than her echoing of Gerda's counsel, the Queen's repetition of Anna's—and in nearly the  _exact_  same manner as her sister had originally given it—somehow chilled Elsa to the bone in a way that winter never could.

_How did she know?_

She knew that wasn't the right question, really, since it was  _impossible_ for the Queen to have known what Anna had only whispered to her in confidence. Nonetheless, there was something altogether discomfiting about the situation she now found herself in—and not even the sweetest of the Southern Isles's sweet rolls could change that fact.

"So, when do we set out for our tour of the city, then?"

Elsa froze in surprise, thinking that the Queen's query was directed at her; then, seeing Anders and Ivar straighten up down the table from her, she relaxed again, relieved.

"In fifteen minutes, Your Majesty," Ivar replied succinctly as he glanced at his pocket watch. " _If_ we all finish our meals by then, that is."

He seemed to be staring at Elsa with particular emphasis as he said this, and she blinked, looking down at her plate—only to realise that she had barely eaten a thing on it.

She blushed sheepishly. "No need to delay on my account," she said, and cut into her food quickly, "I'll be done soon, I assure you—"

" _Please_ , don't rush, Your Majesty," Therese interjected with a smile, and shot a reproachful look at Ivar from the corner of her eye. "And don't feel as if you need to eat everything on your plate, either—I promise you won't offend us by having a small appetite."

Elsa smiled a little at this reassurance, and the King nodded at his wife's words. "She's quite right, Queen Elsa," he said, picking at the last scraps on his own plate. "You're free to leave whatever you can't finish."

"We can always feed the leftovers to the dogs, anyway," Kristian added with a lopsided grin—and, as per usual, everyone stared at him judgmentally until he finally looked down, chastened.

Elsa fidgeted a little uncomfortably at the tension. "I—I'm grateful that you're all so understanding," she thanked them awkwardly, her smile tight. "I'm just . . . not feeling very hungry this morning, I suppose."

With all their eyes now on her, she explained nervously, in haste: "I haven't had much of an appetite since the rough sea journey here, to be perfectly honest."

Some murmurs of understanding echoed around the table at this, and Elsa nearly sighed, allowing herself another nibble on her roll as a reward.

 _Why does everything have to be so_ dramatic  _here?_

She breathed out slowly to steel herself as she put on her nicest countenance. "Will all of you be joining us on the tour, then?" she asked politely, glancing around the sea of masculine faces—most mid-mouthful. Mathias was one of the few who could answer immediately, and his brow was just as dark and unhappy as she remembered it being at the ball.

"I'll be returning home today, Your Majesty, on account of my daughter's . . .  _illness,"_ he said at length, a frown deeply etched into his features. "I will be at some of the other events over the next two weeks of your visit, of course, but—"

"No need to explain," Elsa stopped him, and nodded sympathetically. "I understand. You should be with your family."

Several pairs of sceptical eyes—and their accompanying raised eyebrows—attended this exchange, though the Snow Queen merely found the expressions more irritating than anything else.

 _I really_ can't _be asked to figure out what they mean._

"I'll be off this morning as well," Magnus went next, wearing a stony countenance as he spoke, "as I'm due to attend a meeting with my daughters' tutor."

She remembered the faces of his girls, so courteous and quiet, and she supposed that their father kept them busy with their schoolwork, as he seemed to be quite the stoic and studious man himself.

 _As might be expected of the Crown Prince_ and  _a Council member,_ she thought while nodding to him.

"Please say hello to your daughters for me, Your Highness," she said kindly, and he bowed his head in return.

"Of course, Your Majesty."

"We're also unable to attend, unfortunately," Henrik said after a moment, looking over at his twin.

Emil returned the glance, and continued: "We have to prepare the sermon for service tomorrow, so . . ."

Elsa blinked, staring at their simple black robes and white cravats and suddenly remembering the date— _it's Saturday, isn't it? Which makes tomorrow . . ._ —and then nodded again in recognition.

"Of course," she acknowledged, smiling politely.

"I won't be able to, either," Johannes jumped in from the end of the table, carefully brushing a stray, golden strand of hair from his face,  _"Your Majesty_. Naval duties call."

Elsa was about to nod again, but Kristian cut in, sending a frown his younger brother's way. "You mean  _we_ won't be able to attend," he corrected the twelfth prince, who merely glared back. He turned to Elsa with a small grin. "We're  _both_ in the Navy, you see—so we  _both_ have our duties today, Your Majesty."

Elsa held back a smirk at the displeasure written all over the younger, blonde-haired prince's features at being interrupted—and at being so publicly  _embarrassed._

"I see," she said, hoping her amusement didn't come through in her tone.

Harald cleared his throat a bit further up, his look being the first that seemed  _genuinely_  apologetic for missing the second day's first big event.

"Forgive me, Your Majesty," he began, "but I have some business to attend to while I'm on Strande—I hope you don't mind." He bowed his head contritely.

She waved away the formality, smiling—she liked Prince Harald well enough since their first meeting, anyway, to shrug off the vagueness of his excuse.

"I don't mind at all," she told him, and inquired: "Will I still be seeing you tonight, at the ball?"

His eyes brightened at the query. "Of course, Your Majesty—Annette and I wouldn't miss it for the  _worl—"_

"I'm not going either," Tor interrupted, drolly. Seeing his older brother's scowl, he added, almost as an afterthought: " _Your Majesty."_

Elsa could see why so many of the others always seemed aggravated with the eleventh in line—his unceasing moodiness, if nothing else, had an uncanny ability to kill whatever "nice" atmosphere had been built up prior to it.

The Queen seemed  _especially_ worked up by the brooding young man's ending comment, her shoulders high with annoyance. "Well, is that  _everyone,_ then?" she asked sarcastically, her eyes narrowing as some of the princes looked down in discomfort. "Good."

Elsa checked, out of absent curiosity, to see who among the brothers were  _actually_ coming along; and, upon tallying them up, she felt strangely relieved, as they were all personalities she had dealt with before.

_Ivar and Anders will be there as the guides . . . Fredrik and Adrian too, leading the Royal Guard . . . and then the King and Queen, obviously, as well._

She paused, and swallowed.

 _And_ me.

"It's just about time, now, Your Majesty," the Queen informed Elsa, who nodded quickly, and moved to rise from her seat—but the older woman's raised hand stopped her midway, and she sat again, staring at the Queen curiously.

Therese smoothed back some stray strands of hair as if to calm herself, and looked directly at Elsa as she spoke. "Before we depart for the tour," she began cautiously, "there's something we should make you aware of, Queen Elsa."

The young woman's brows stitched together in bemusement, but she said nothing, allowing the Queen to continue.

"As requested, the traitor—formerly  _Prince_  Hans—will be delivered by boat from Vollan Island sometime this afternoon to Strande," she said judiciously, "and will be confined to a room in the servants' quarters while in residence at the palace."

As Elsa's eyes widened at this— _I hadn't expected them to bring him the very next_   **day** , she thought, her heart racing anxiously—Therese continued in just as serious a tone.

"Obviously, the traitor will  _not_ be joining us for any public events or private meals unless specifically requested by  _you,_ Your Majesty," she assured her, "but even if he  _is_ in attendance, do not feel under any pressure to approach him alone, as you will always have guardsmen by your side—yours and  _ours_ —to accompany you."

Elsa wondered if she was nodding, suddenly feeling dizzy. "Of—of course," she responded blankly, not really looking at the Queen.

Therese continued in spite of her guest's blank expression. "And will you . . . permit him to be present at tonight's ball?"

Elsa's body felt like lead, and she answered without thinking.

"Y—yes, I think so."

The Queen nodded. "Very well then," she replied quickly, and motioned to a servant at the back of the dining hall. "We'll make sure he's properly attired in advance."

Elsa felt her head bob in acknowledgment. "Thank you, Your Majesties."

"Please," the King cut in, trying to lighten the mood, "just call us by our first names—Therese and Oskar," he requested, smiling weakly. "It's much easier than having to say 'Your Majesties' all the time, isn't it?"

Therese smiled tightly at her husband, and pressed his hand. "Yes, we would like that."

The Snow Queen's lips felt like ice.

"Then please—call me  _Elsa."_

* * *

She had genuinely wanted to enjoy the tour that morning—the mingling with the people of the Southern Isles, the patronising of their various goods and wares, the absorbing of the Isles's history and culture through Ivar and Anders's lecture—but the Queen's announcement at breakfast (and Elsa's own, mystifying acquiescence to it) had a way of replaying itself over and  _over_ again in her head until she was unable to focus on anything else.

 _As requested, the traitor . . . will be delivered by boat from Vollan Island sometime this_   _afternoon to Strande._

She had done her best in the meantime to appear as if nothing at all was wrong, whether by nodding at all of the appropriate times when pertinent information was relayed by Ivar or Anders (though they argued in a passive-aggressive manner throughout over the specific details contained within said information); expressing concern when the King left the tour early to retire to the palace, too tired to continue by foot; laughing politely when the Queen made the stray joke or remark about the city, always in good humour; and abiding Adrian's flirtatious comments, which—on top of everything else on her mind—only served to irritate her.

_. . . and he will be confined to a room in the servants' quarters while in residence at the palace._

She pursed her lips in thought as they paused to take a break by a flower stall which Therese was rather fond of—this much was apparent, anyway, by the familiar way in which she greeted the stall owner, an older woman whose fading brown eyes lit up at the sight of the Queen.

"Your Majesty," she said, trying to bow on hobbled feet. Therese gently grabbed her shoulders, stopping her from dipping too low.

"Honestly, Josefine," she said with an earnest, genuine smile—the same sort she had been wearing all through the morning, Elsa noted—and continued, "you know there's no need to be so formal with  _me."_ She gestured to her guest. "Actually, I wanted to introduce you to a very special young woman: Queen Elsa of Arendelle. You've heard of her, surely?"

Josefine tried to curtsy again, surprised. "Oh, Your Majesty! What an honour to receive you at my humble stall!"

Elsa nodded civilly, smiling a little. "Not at all. It's a pleasure to meet you."

 _And will you . . . permit him to be present at_ tonight's _ball?_

She had to pull back a frown from creeping onto her lips as Josefine beamed back, though the old woman was quickly taken off-guard again when she recognised the princes in tow.

"Oh, Queen Therese! You didn't tell me you were going to bring so many of your sons—I would have made tea at home, and—"

Therese waved off the suggestion, still smiling. "No need, my dear woman. We are giving Queen Elsa a tour of the city, and you know that no tour is complete without stopping to look at your  _beautiful_  flowers."

Josefine blushed at this. "Ah, you're too kind, Your Majesty!" Thinking for a moment, she gathered up a bouquet of purple and white geraniums, and presented them to Elsa. "Please, Queen Elsa," she said, her head bowed, "take these."

Elsa blinked in surprise, reddening; then, gently, she took the flowers, and nodded gratefully.

"They're—they're lovely. Thank you," she said, and Josefine patted her gloved hands warmly.

"It's my thanks to  _you_  for visiting our kingdom, Your Majesty," she smiled, wrinkles bunching up along the sides of her mouth as evidence of her pleasant character. "And we very much hope you'll return again, someday."

Elsa merely nodded at this as Josefine and Therese fell into conversation, and she looked down at the bouquet, relaxing at the sight of it. It wasn't the first token of gratitude handed to her that day in the city—actually, it was one of many thus far, as every butcher, baker and candlestick maker had been eager to give the visiting queen a sample of their goods—but, somehow, the flowers had made the best impression on her.

 _Because they remind me of Anna_.

She and her sister had taken to long turns around the castle gardens over the past year, not to mention hikes in the mountains and in the forests around the fjord. The two shared an unexpected love of greenery, and had even started planting flowers all around the castle grounds together as a kind of "project" to keep them close (though it had taken Elsa some convincing at first, since she had feared, for a long time, that she would freeze the plants without meaning to).

_I wish she were here._

A pang of homesickness hit her then—but it was followed, just as quickly, by a wave of dread.

 _No—_ he'll  _be here tonight,_   _so . . . it's best she's at home._

She thought again of the letters she would write her sister in the coming days—letters about what she did and said at court, and why she did and said those things (though she hardly understood the reasons herself)—letters she would try to send, and letters that would likely be held up at port, unable to be carried back across the dangerous sea.

_She'll be so worried._

Her brows furrowed as she imagined Anna nervously awaiting news from her back in Arendelle—and, equally, the anxious expressions of Kai and the Council as no word arrived back from the Isles for days, if not  _weeks_.

_But it's best they don't know._

Naturally, then, she thought of  _his_ arrival—of seeing him after so many months, of what she would say to him at the ball that evening, of what  _he_ would say to  _her._  She tried to picture his face again—the dark auburn hair, the green eyes—but every time she did so, the Queen's visage from her coronation portrait was the only one which came to mind.

_Not surprising, really._

She couldn't help but release a soft sigh as her worries weighed too heavily on her, not noticing when a familiar Royal Guardsman sidled up beside where she stood a few paces away from the Queen and Josefine, his sea-green eyes adopting a sheen of concern.

"Are you feeling all right, Your Grace?"

She jumped a little in surprise to see him there, and pinked at being caught in her own brooding.

"I—I'm fine, Prince Adrian," she said after a moment, gripping the flowers tightly. "Just a bit tired, perhaps."

He didn't seem to believe her entirely—not that she could blame him—but he was as diplomatic as ever. "Well, the tour  _has_ gone on for quite a while, hasn't it?" he remarked to her quietly, frowning. "And for some reason, Mother always  _insists_ on going by foot rather than carriage—but then," he continued, shrugging, "that is how she earns her popularity with the people, I suppose."

Adrian glanced at Elsa sympathetically. "Still, you are our honoured guest—and you're obviously not used to the heat," he commented, making her blush in embarrassment. "So it's really quite unfair of her to expect you to keep up with all of this."

Elsa held back a frown at his conclusion—it was  _slightly_ condescending, after all—but she had the impression that he hadn't meant it as an offence.

 _He seems more_ annoyed _to be out here than anything else._

Glancing at the others, as well—the silent Fredrik watching disapprovingly as Adrian spoke to her and the quietly bickering Ivar and Anders, both sweating a little in their full suits—she realised, then, that  _none_ of them really wanted to be there, and probably were feeling fairly envious of their other brothers who had summoned one excuse or another that morning to weasel their way out of the commitment.

Out of everyone, then, Therese was clearly having the most enjoyable time: her eyes, which had seemed tired that same morning, now sparkled at every vendor and businessman they greeted, her smile magnanimous at the children who waved to her as she passed, and her manner more open and  _human_ than she had been at court. As far as Elsa could tell, she was sincerely relishing the person-to-person contact, and the common folk, in turn, were just as taken with their Queen.

_. . . the Queen appears to have taken great pains over the course of her reign to ensure that the public's affections remain in her favour._

Kai's words rang much truer then, when she could see first-hand what he meant; and whereas before the Queen's determination to maintain the love of the people had intimidated Elsa, she now saw something . . .  _gentler_ in the woman's intentions.

 _They all seem to really . . ._ **love** _her._

It would have been one thing, she thought, if the Queen were walking through the city centre with her head held high, her train in tow, and the people bowing and scraping at her feet as she passed by, reverent of her majesty—that, Elsa mused, would  _surely_ have indicated her as guilty of ruling through fear or some sort of cheap bribery.

But this—her familiar touching of people's hands and shoulders, laughing with them about local news and tavern stories, asking them about their families and love lives as if she knew them all intimately, and the townspeople's similar casualness around her—this, Elsa mused, must be proof that there was a real,  _deep_ affection underlying the relationship between the Queen and the commoners.

 _No wonder she didn't come to the port yesterday,_ Elsa thought suddenly, remembering her confusion from the night before.  _If she had . . . they would have gone_ crazy  _for her._

It was clear to her, then, that Therese's strategy had been a two-pronged one: first, have the princes greet Elsa upon her arrival so that the attention of the event would remain solely focused on the visiting queen; and second, show Elsa around the city the next day, so that she would understand, in person, just how secure the Southern Queen was in her spot—so secure, in fact, that making a public appearance in order to greet a foreign visitor to her shores would have actually constituted a  _breach_ of polite conduct.

Elsa shook her head, baffled at the realisation.

 _It's so . . ._ different  _from Arendelle._

By comparison, she felt a little embarrassed at how  _formal_ her relations with her own people appeared. Yes, she tried to visit with them on occasion, and listened frequently to their petitions at court, but . . . they were all essentially strangers to her, after so many years spent shut away behind the castle gates.

She wondered absently, as she watched Therese continue to chat happily with Josefine, if her late father, the King, would have approved of such closeness; but no sooner had she wondered on this point than she suddenly remembered his face leaning down close to hers as he slipped the tiny white gloves on her hands, and telling her:

 _The gloves will help—see? Conceal it. Don't feel it. Don't let it_ show—

"Queen Elsa?"

She shook herself from her trance, meeting Adrian's curious look. "I'm sorry," she said briefly, an apologetic smile touching her features. "I was off in my own thoughts again, I'm afraid."

He shrugged. "No need for apologies, Your Majesty." Adrian gestured to the Queen, who was parting from Josefine's side. "It seems as though Mother has  _finally_ decided to end her conversation with the old woman, though—so I'd best fall back with the others." He winked at her. "I hope you don't mind."

She shook her head, her hands clasped primly in front of her. "Not at all. We'll speak again later, I'm sure."

Adrian merely bowed in response, and walked back to stand with the other guardsmen. Elsa noticed, with amusement, that Fredrik's glower at his younger brother's flirtations was menacing.

"I apologise for getting side-tracked," Therese said as she returned to Elsa's side, motioning for the group to continue along, "and for dragging you all over the place—you must be tired, now."

Elsa shook her head. "It's fine, really. I'm enjoying it, actually."

Therese's look, like Adrian's before it, showed her scepticism—but, also like her son, she was quick to conceal it.

"I'm glad," she replied, "but if you  _are_ tired, don't worry—we only have one more stop to make before returning to the palace for lunch."

Anders, following behind the two, stared after his mother's back questioningly, his moustache twitching with a frown as he pulled on his collar. "Where is the last stop, Mother?" he called after her as she moved to the head of the group, a few paces ahead of Elsa and the others.

She didn't spare him a glance. "Gustav's."

Anders looked as if he wanted to roll his eyes at this answer; Ivar, less conscientious of the impression he left, did so anyway, and grumbled something incomprehensible under his breath. Both men were practically sweating bullets by then as the group passed under the hot sun, since there was little shade to be found under the short canopies of the buildings in the city square.

But—just like before—they seemed unwilling to withdraw their fans from their coat pockets.

Glancing at the guardsmen behind her—who were dressed even  _more_ heavily than the twins—she wondered if, perhaps, Ivar and Anders were too embarrassed to fan themselves in front of their armoured brothers, as it might make them appear foppish by comparison.

 _Men,_ Elsa mused, wanting to laugh.  _I'm glad I only have a sister._

Keeping a slower pace than the Queen and the twins, Elsa soon found herself falling in step with Fredrik, who—of all the brothers in the small group accompanying them—she knew the least about.

Observing his cold expression, she nevertheless had the feeling that he, too, was displeased with his mother's announcement that there would be yet  _another_ stop. Unlike the others, however, he had restrained himself from openly expressing this discontent.

 _. . . a bit of a cosmic joke, it seems, on our_ dear _mother._

She recalled his sour quip from the night before, glancing at him briefly from the corner of her eye. Obviously, he had some unresolved issues with Therese—as they all seemed to, really—but, at least when his mother was  _present,_ he had refrained from saying anything untoward.

His eyes flared at her for a moment from under his dark blonde brow, and she flushed, looking at the ground.

_I must have been staring longer than I thought._

He would be handsomer, she guessed, if he did not always wear such an unapproachable and overly authoritative mask. After all, he and Adrian's colouring was somewhat similar, and the second-eldest brother  _was,_ she had gathered, still a bachelor.

 _But I somehow doubt many women are fighting each other for the chance to marry him. Now his_ younger brother _, on the other hand . . ._

She glanced at Adrian, just behind Fredrik—and no sooner had she done so than he flashed his winning smile at her, and she averted her gaze once more, embarrassed that each of her attempts to be furtive had failed so quickly.

 _They're_ always  _watching, aren't they?_

"Here we are," Therese declared, and breathed in audibly, sighing. "And it smells as good as ever, Alma!" she exclaimed, poking her head just through the open windows of the shop. She turned back to Elsa, looking oddly excited. "I know we've already been to several bakeries in the city, Elsa," she said quietly, not wanting "Alma" to overhear, "but this is by  _far_ the best—isn't it, boys?"

Her sons all muttered their agreement, though it was easy to tell that they only did so to appease her.

Elsa hid a smirk at their annoyed looks, and breathed in the air of the bakery herself. Even if she was unsure as to the actual quality of the foods produced there, she could tell, from the scents, that they were probably as good as Therese said.

"Oh, my Queen—is that  _you?"_ a voice called back from inside the shop, and within seconds the door swung open, revealing a plump, red-faced woman bedecked in a flour-stained apron. She grinned widely as she surveyed the group with Therese, and a cloud of flour dusting puffed out around her as she curtsied. " _And_ Queen Elsa! Well, this is  _quite_ the surprise!" she continued, clapping her large hands on her sides for effect. "Lucky for you, Your Majesties, that I just finished the  _loveliest_ batch of biscuits. Please, come in! I'll go and fetch Gustav from the kitchens."

Although the woman—whose name was "Alma," Elsa assumed, from the Queen's previous address—had invited them all inside, it quickly became clear that only two or three people could  _actually_ fit within the tiny shop at one time.

The princes were aware of this already, it seemed, as they all stayed outside. Therese motioned for Elsa to follow her when she looked uncertain at the situation, waving away the look of concern on the younger woman's face.

"They know there's only room for  _us,"_ she remarked with a smirk, glancing at her discontented brood waiting in the heat outside. "So please, Elsa—don't hesitate to come in."

The Queen withdrew two chairs from the corner and pulled over a small table for the two of them, surprising Elsa, again, with her utter informality. After arranging the furniture to her liking, she motioned for her guest to sit down; too bemused by Therese's behaviour to question the request, Elsa simply yielded to it.

 _It's as if she_ owns  _the place._

"You—you know the owners of this bakery well, then?" Elsa ventured.

Therese smiled broadly. "Yes—I've known Gustav, anyway, since—"

"Since before she became Queen!" Alma finished proudly as she reappeared from the kitchen with an equally plump, red-faced, and balding man in tow, sweat beading at his forehead. Alma ushered him over to her side, facing the guests. "Queen Elsa, allow me to introduce my husband, Gustav," she said, her voice effusive with praise at his name. "I hope you don't mind his appearance—he's just come from the kitchen."

Gustav smiled lopsidedly at this, looking sheepish as he bowed. "My apologies, Your Majesty."

Elsa smiled back. "It's fine, really," she reassured him, and complimented: "And besides, whatever you were making smells  _very_  good."

"Isn't she just  _charming?"_ Therese said fondly, making the young queen blush. "But she's right—it  _does_ smell excellent in here! Is that coming from those biscuits you were speaking of?"

Alma nodded vigorously, patting her husband on the shoulder. "Indeed it is, Your Majesty! I'll fetch them now. In the meantime, dear," she said, turning to her husband, "why don't you keep Their Graces entertained?"

He bowed his head dutifully. "Of—of course," he responded as she pinched his cheek and scuttled back off behind the door, leaving him with the other women. He stared after her a moment longer before turning his attention back to the guests of honour—and Elsa noted, with some surprise, that his eyes were a beautiful shade of bluish green.

 _That seems . . ._ familiar,  _for some reason._

"So, Your Majesties," he addressed them, and she drew herself out of her pondering, "what brings you to our little shop today? It's quite unexpected, but, uh, of course," he continued awkwardly, his pudgy cheeks pinking in embarrassment, "you're always welcome here."

Therese's smile was ever-present. "We were just giving Queen Elsa a little tour of the city to start the day," she informed him sweetly, "though I'm afraid we can't stay long, as my sons might melt, otherwise."

She glanced over with faux exasperation at her sons standing impatiently outside, and Gustav looked as well—but, strangely, when his eyes landed upon the princes by his window, they stayed there—for a  _while_.

Elsa followed his gaze with a furrowed brow, her interest piqued by the unusually long pause; she was disappointed to find, however, that in that exact moment, Gustav's look had drawn away from the window again, having evidently been chastened by none other than Fredrik (who looked positively  _offended,_ it seemed, by a commoner raising his eyes to him).

"Well, in that case we—we won't keep you long," he told them briefly, his face red—but not from the heat of the kitchen, Elsa suspected.

She looked between Therese and Gustav with polite attentiveness. "You've known each other a long time?"

They exchanged a small smile, then—a smile, Elsa thought suddenly, that reminded her of the kind Therese exchanged with the  _King—_ but it was gone just as soon as it had come.

"Yes—like Alma said, we met when we were children, barely thirteen," Therese replied nostalgically. "His father owned this bakery before him, you see, and so Gustav has worked here all his life."

Elsa blinked.

 _They're . . . the_ same _age?_

Her widened blue eyes gave her away as Gustav and the Queen shared a chuckle at her expense. The former picked up where the Queen left off, his tone amused.

"I know it's hard to believe, Queen Elsa, as Her Majesty still looks a maiden compared to me," he began with a shy smile, "but it's true—we became friends when she used to come by the shop and pick up bread for her family, and she even gave my father the honour of being the official baker for her coronation! Not to mention so many other events in the years after."

"And we've been friends for all this time," Therese said happily, and grinned at Elsa as she added: "But really, he knows that it wouldn't have lasted if he hadn't married Alma." She laughed as Gustav pouted at the remark, and it was strangely  _pleasant,_ Elsa mused, to hear the Queen laugh in such an honest way. "She's truly the most  _delightful_  woman."

"Oh, Queen Therese," Alma sighed affectionately as she banged through the kitchen door again, a plate in hand, "you're far too kind!" She placed the plate on the makeshift dining table between the two women, staring with wide, expectant blue eyes as each of them brought one of the still-warm biscuits to their lips.

Elsa ate the treat carefully with her free hand not holding flowers, not wanting any crumbs to fall onto her dress. The sweet, crisp flavour of it, as a result, hit her like a slow wave, and she nearly had to pause, mid-chew, to absorb it all at once.

_It's . . . it's . . ._

_"Delicious,"_ she whispered to herself, her tone awed.

Therese held back a smirk as she chewed the rest of her biscuit, looking knowingly at Alma. "Ah, the first bite—how I wish I could go back and experience it all over again!"

Alma giggled, and Elsa finally pulled herself out of her sweets-induced trance to give the woman an appreciative look. "It really is incredible," she said admiringly. "I'm sure you must give the other bakeries a run for their money."

Alma smiled gratefully, her look growing a bit more serious. "I'm glad you like it, Queen Elsa," she said, and walked over to pat Therese's shoulder softly. "But, really, without this  _amazing_ woman's patronage, I doubt we would be even  _half_ as successful as we are."

Therese waved off the comment. "Honestly, Alma, there's no need—"

"No—it's true," Gustav continued, his eyes fiercely proud as they stared at the Queen. "Her Majesty is always praising us and the other merchants and farmers in the city, but . . . she's the one who  _really_ deserves it."

His wife nodded wholeheartedly in agreement even as the Queen looked slightly embarrassed by their gushing tribute. "And not just for how she's helped us—but for how she's helped this  _kingdom,"_ she emphasised. "It's become a far better place to live for us common folk, you know, since she became Queen."

Therese's green eyes sparkled with determination. "I was born a commoner, just the same as you," she told Alma and Gustav seriously. "It would have been practically criminal if I  _hadn't_ done something to help my own people."

Alma beamed. "You see? You see how  _wonderful_ she is?"

Gustav was, likewise, radiant. "Selfless, truly."

Elsa could only nod at their high praise of Therese, unable to  _really_ relate to it; her own impression of the Queen, anyway, was not well-formed enough yet to confirm or deny those of the city-dwellers (which had been, admittedly,  _overwhelmingly_ positive).

 _It's almost bizarre how . . ._ universal  _it is._

Alma drew another chair from the corner to sit by them, eyeing Elsa meaningfully. "I hope Her Majesty doesn't mind me saying so," she glanced back at Therese, "but I think that our King really  _needed_ her—things might have gotten even worse around here, otherwise."

Elsa's head cocked to the side, puzzled by the quiet comment. "Worse?"

Alma nodded sombrely. "You see, before she became Queen," she began as if in confidence, "I think His Majesty was having quite a hard time managing things. There was a terrible drought that started after his father died, and, well . . ." she trailed off uncomfortably, and looked to Therese for help.

The Queen obliged. "Oskar's father, King Nikolaj, was—well, he left the kingdom in a poor state upon his death," she said haltingly, minding her words. "Drought, as Alma mentioned, and famine, civil unrest . . . it was really too much at once for  _anyone_ to handle."

"And the poor man lost his first wife, too," Gustav broke in solemnly. "Queen Marie, who died in childbirth."

Therese matched his tone with her own, sorrowful one. "After years of trying to conceive a child, as well!" she added, shaking her head. "My dear, poor husband."

Alma patted the Queen's hand at the comment, obviously touched by the woman's grief. Elsa, however, was  _slightly_ more incredulous at Therese's pity for her husband's woeful history.

 _That woman's death_ did _allow her to become Queen, after all._

The baker's wife continued after the required pause. "People were upset, as you can imagine, with the state of things—and they took out their anger on the King, even though he wasn't really to blame." She frowned at the memory, looking at Therese. "But then . . . he married you, Your Majesty," she said, her voice warmer, "and through your ingenuity, you saved us all."

Elsa's brow rose. "Ingenuity?"

Therese sighed, affectionate exasperation in her voice. "She's exaggerating as always, dear woman," she corrected with a smile. "I merely helped along the practical side of digging new wells, crop redistribution, sanitation improvements—really, it was nothing remarkable."

Alma looked affronted at the Therese's modesty. "Oh, bite your  _tongue,_ Your Majesty!" she exclaimed, her hands on her hips as she stood from the chair, staring defensively at the taken aback Queen of Arendelle. "I would  _never_ exaggerate about this woman—there's no need to, when she's been so good to us!"

Her face got redder as she puffed up with self-righteous indignation, and her husband backed away a little towards the door, knowing what was coming. "It wasn't  _just_ that she had the new wells built, and made sure no one was starving and that we all had clean water to drink," she began, her chest rising, "but also that she's never stopped since—even in the face of all those  _nasty_ lords and ladies at court, she's been our champion day in and day out, never asking us for a thing in return."

Therese, Elsa noticed, remained unruffled throughout this impassioned speech, not a speck of a blush to be found in her pink cheeks; and as Alma came to her ardent conclusion, her eyes almost  _challenging_ Therese to deny what she'd said, the red-haired woman merely smiled coyly, and took another biscuit from the plate.

"And, unfortunately," she said, rising from her seat, "we must be off now to face these very same 'nasty' lords and ladies at the palace."

Alma curtsied, blushing sheepishly. "Sorry for that, Queen Therese," she apologised clumsily, "I might have gotten a little . . .  _carried away_ in the moment."

Therese waved away the apology, a small grin on her lips. "I wouldn't fault you for that, Alma," she said understandingly, and glanced at Elsa—who, catching the look, quickly rose from her chair as well, brushing away any crumbs that might have gotten on her dress. "Do you mind if we take the rest home?" Therese asked, gesturing to the remaining biscuits.

Gustav stepped in front of his flustered wife at the request, taking the plate up. "Of course, Your Majesty," he said immediately. "I'll just wrap them up for you."

She nodded as he went behind the counter, and Alma, by then, had calmed down, smiling easily as before. "We hope you'll come by again soon, Your Majesties," she told them, and Gustav reappeared with a white cloth bag tied with a decorative blue ribbon. "Next time, though,  _do_  tell us in advance, so we can have something nicer prepared for you both."

Therese nodded, amused. "The biscuits were perfectly adequate," she replied, taking the bag gently from Gustav with knowing eyes. "But I promise to let you know, when we stop by in the future."

Alma nodded approvingly at this, and Gustav bowed, opening the door to the shop for the departing queens. "We'll be glad to see you, then," he said courteously, and his gaze met Therese's, if briefly, as she nodded back to the couple.

"Goodbye for now," the Queen spoke in parting before finally turning back to the original group of princes and guards—all looking  _thoroughly_ heat-stricken, by then—and almost immediately plastered on an entirely different countenance, her eyes indifferent.

"Fredrik," she addressed her son at the head of the guardsmen, "would you lead us back to the palace?"

"Of course, Your Majesty," he answered automatically, and guided them towards the main stone path winding back to the palace.

There were carriages, thankfully, stationed at the bottom of the hill, and Elsa nearly sighed at the sight of the horses, suddenly aware of just how exhausted she  _really_  was from the long morning tour.

"If you're tired, Elsa," Therese said, and her tone was stiffer than the young queen had expected it to be, "you're welcome to take lunch in your room. I might even do so myself," she added.

It was clear, then, that she was just as worn out as Elsa, though she had been unerringly careful in her effort to conceal this fact throughout the day thus far. This was evidenced, at least, by the return of the dark circles under her eyes, which looked even grimmer than before.

Elsa nodded her approval at the suggestion. "I think that might be good for both of us," she said, and continued somewhat cautiously: "You must be quite tired yourself, after all of that."

The Queen smiled tightly as they reached the carriages, allowing Fredrik to give her a hand up into it. He helped Elsa up shortly after, and she nodded to him in thanks, though he ignored the gesture.

"Yes," Therese said simply as they sat next to each other, the carriages pulling away from the city. "I suppose I am."

She closed her emerald eyes as the wind rushed past them, blowing strands of her auburn hair around her strong jaw and tense, full lips, and finally released a small, inaudible sigh.

Elsa watched her all the while, her gaze soft—but full of questions.

 _Who_ is  _this woman?_


	10. Chapter 9: The Mirror

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One last, short chapter before our pair finally meet again! But you'll be pleased, I hope, to see a bit of a moment between them at the end. (Sort of.) Thanks for the reviews!

# Chapter 9: The Mirror

She tapped the quill agitatedly against the paper, her eyes fixed on her own script.

_Dear Anna,_

_I'm sorry if this letter reaches you later than expected. The North Sea seems to be unpredictable this time of year, and we had quite a rough journey on the way over._

She frowned.

 _That's_ it?

She'd been sitting at the desk in her room—no,  _his_ room, she reminded herself, her frown growing—for over half an hour after finishing lunch, and had only managed those two sentences in all that time.

 _Maybe I just started it wrong,_ she reasoned, and carefully folded the draft before disposing of it in the wastebasket beside her, sighing. She withdrew another loose sheet from under the paper weight at the corner of the desk, dipped her quill in the inkwell, and began again.

_Dear Anna,_

_You've probably been wondering why it's taken so long to receive this letter from me—and, I admit, I'm writing it to you on my second day here, since I didn't have the time on the first to do so—but I hope that, upon reading this, you'll be reassured that I am safe and well-looked after here. The Queen, in particular, has been—_

Elsa paused, staring at the paper.

 _Has been . . ._ what?

Her lips pursed, dissatisfied.

 _And why did I only write "the Queen"? Surely I should mention the Queen_ and  _King, so as not to raise suspicions._

She sighed again, crumpling the second draft with cold fingers, flurries falling gently onto the table. She shook them off, clearing her mind as she threw the paper away and then smoothed out a fresh one.

 **_Dearest_ ** _Anna—_

Her nose wrinkled at the address—would that  _really_ help anything?

_She'll probably just think I'm hiding something._

She crushed the paper, threw it away, and started again.

_Dear Anna,_

_I'm sorry if you get this letter late, and if you've been worrying about me. I hope things are well with you back home, and that Kai's been helping settle you into your new role. I know it must be difficult, but you're probably doing a fine job._

_How is Kristoff? Olaf? Sven? Has Prince Eugene called at port yet, or is he late (as usual)? Give him my best wishes whenever he arrives._

_As for me, well, it's only my second day at court, and so I'm still getting used to everything here. The King and Queen have been keeping me very busy since I arrived, though: a welcome dinner and ball last night, and a tour of the city this morning. I'm already exhausted, but, if can you believe it—there's going to be_ another  _ball this evening! I know you love them, Anna, but I'm beginning to wonder if I can handle all of this for the next two weeks._

She stopped there, again, and her forehead creased in consternation. Something was . . .  _off_ about this one as well.

 _What's wrong now?_  her logical brain asked, annoyed—but it wasn't long before the answer came to her, abrupt and stingingly obvious.

 _You're not being_ honest, _Elsa._

She bit her lip, irritated with herself. She'd made  _so_ much progress—nearly three paragraphs!—but, as usual, her self-doubt nagged at her until she was forced to toss the draft in much the same way as all the others before it, and placed another sheet by the quill.

Merely  _looking_ at the blank page, however, made Elsa groan, and she splayed herself over the desk, resting her head resignedly on her forearms as snow pattered around her.

 _At this rate,_ nothing  _will get written,_ she chided herself, and glanced at the page through her folded arms. Reluctantly she drew herself up again, dissolving the snow cloud above her, and moodily stared at the desk, tapping her fingers impatiently against its varnished surface.

 _You have to tell her the_ truth.

Her lip curled, aggravated at the idea.

 _She's going to find out anyway,_   _eventually—but_ you  _should be the first one to tell her._

Rationally, she knew her brain was correct—and that, if her sister found out from anyone else  _but_ Elsa about the traitor's return to court, she would be even  _angrier_ than at the news itself.

 _After all, I promised her that we would_ never _close the gates again._

It was this thought that finally propelled her to take up the quill again, sighing for the umpteenth time; but, of course, the minute she did so, she distracted herself by looking around the room, searching, as before, for any sign that  _he_ had once occupied it.

As always, though, there seemed to be no stone left unturned in the refurnishing of the place—and somehow that didn't surprise her, when she thought of the Queen's dark expression at the mention of the thirteenth prince.

She ran a hand through her long, white hair as she wrote, frazzled.

_Dear Anna,_

_I don't know when you'll receive this letter, but I hope it's not long after I've written it._

_I wrote others before it—telling you how I'm faring at court, about the weather on the seas, what events they've held in my honour—but I threw them all away, because those things . . . they're not as important as what I_ really  _have to tell you._

 _You see, yesterday was my first day in the Isles, and I met everyone then—the King, the Queen, and all their sons—but something_ else _happened, too._

 _I was standing in front of them, and we were about to go around the palace, but I felt as though something was wrong with it all. I was unhappy, Anna, with the way they were speaking to me; with the way they treated me, as if I were this little, delicate flower who would be hurt by just hearing his name aloud. I felt like I had to prove to them that they were wrong about me—about_ both  _of us—but I didn't know how to do it . . . except for one thing._

 _So I asked them, then, to allow him back—to allow_ Hans _back—for my visit to court. I told them it was so we could finally move past what happened, and so that I could see his penitence in person, but . . . honestly, I'm not actually sure why I did it, and I'm still wondering about it now, as I write this letter to you._

 _I know what I did will upset you, and I can't blame you for that, since I don't understand my own feelings that well yet. But maybe it_ is  _just about "confronting the past head-on," Anna—maybe I_ do  _just want to feel like things are finally resolved, even if it hurts us both._

_I'm sorry, Anna—but please believe me when I say that I miss you more than anything else in the world._

_Love,_

_Elsa_

She exhaled deeply as she laid the quill down again, and closed her eyes, meditative.

_I hope that's enough._

**"Queen Elsa?"**

She nearly toppled her chair over in surprise at the sudden knocking on the door, and she quickly folded the letter and shoved it into the first drawer in plain sight, her heart racing.

"Y—yes, Finn?" she answered as she stood, trying desperately to compose herself again.

"Sir Leif here to see you, Your Majesty," he replied from beyond the oak barrier, and she breathed out, a little relieved.

_At least it's not the Queen._

"Let him in," she said, watching with calmer eyes as her adviser entered the room with an apologetic expression, the door closing behind him.

His dark head remained bowed as he spoke. "I'm sorry to interrupt you, Your Majesty," he said, sounding genuinely contrite, "but I had to come and apologise in person for my long absence today thus far. I've only just returned from my tour of the Council chambers, the library, and the attached study hall with Sir Anton, you see, and—"

She held up a hand, halting him mid-sentence, and smiled patiently. "It's fine, Leif. I was worried that you'd be bored here, actually, while we were gone—though it seems as though you've been kept busy as well, which is a relief."

He stared at her with some surprise at this, finally raising his head again. "Your Majesty, I—your tolerance of my shameful behaviour humbles me," he said quietly, averting his eyes as his cheeks pinked. "I hope you can forgive me."

Her smile was the same as before. "Forgiven and already forgotten, I assure you," she told him. "Actually, I'm glad to see you, as there is something I wanted to discuss with you."

Leif gazed at her curiously, and she motioned for him to sit down by her at the desk.

"Did something happen during the morning's tour, Your Majesty?" he asked, concerned.

She shook her head, though her smile faded. "No—nothing to worry about, anyway," she replied somewhat vaguely, looking away at the window. "I just . . . needed your advice," she admitted finally, turning her gaze wearily to her adviser. "About the Queen."

A look of understanding passed over his features. "The Queen," he repeated, and crossed his arms.

Elsa nodded, her brow furrowing. "The King retired early during the tour, you see, leaving me with her and the other Princes," she explained, holding his stare, "and she was just so . . .  _familiar_ with all the commoners." Her lips pursed again in thought. "It was refreshing, of course, but also somewhat . . .  _strange,_ compared to her behaviour at court." She eyed him curiously. "I'm—I guess I'm finding it difficult to understand her, is what I'm trying to say."

Leif shrugged, to her surprise, and sounded nonchalant. "We've only been here  _two days_ , Your Majesty," he pointed out, his brow rising sceptically. "I don't think it's particularly worrisome that you don't 'understand' her yet, given the circumstances."

Elsa reddened in embarrassment.

 _He always manages to make me feel_ foolish, _doesn't he?_

She swallowed, smiling uneasily. "Yes, I suppose you're right," she allowed, rising from the chair again. He followed suit out of propriety. "I—I'm just overreacting, probably."

Leif sighed a little. "It's all right, Queen Elsa," he reassured her, though even  _that_ sounded somewhat patronising. "We're in a strange land, after all, and the stories about the Queen are not  _particularly_ flattering," he noted with a frown, and went on, "and you're likely still exhausted from the trip here—I know  _I_ haven't fully recovered yet myself—so it's natural for you to be overcautious."

His expression was lighter than before as he finished. "Besides, I'm happy to be in your confidence, whatever your concerns may be."

Elsa held back a frown at the comment, forcing herself to smile again. "And I am lucky to have you by my side," she returned with some effort, and she'd never missed Kai more than in that moment. She turned away and walked to the window, looking out at the bright daylight of the afternoon; absently, she wished she could be back in the streets again, sitting in Gustav and Alma's bakery with a biscuit in hand.

"Anyway, that's all, really," she concluded awkwardly, glancing back at him. "Was there any other business you had with me, Leif?"

He shook his head. "No, Queen Elsa—just the apology," he replied simply. "I'll see you again at dinner."

"Until then," Elsa said, if absentmindedly, and barely kept her eyes affixed to the scene long enough to watch him bow deeply and then depart.

As soon as the door was closed again, she glowered.

 _He's already quite_ taken  _with the Queen,_ she thought, remembering how awed he had been during their first meeting in the throne room.  _And I doubt she'll be anything but on her_ best _behaviour around him._

The notion made her want to roll her blue eyes in annoyance, and she wondered, then, if Leif was  _really_ going to be as useful to her as she had hoped. Her gaze cooled, and she glanced back at the desk, her fingers curling into a fist.

_I should send it._

Light from the window filtered across its smooth surface, but the drawer within which she had tossed the letter remained engulfed by shadows.

She turned away from it, and pressed a bare hand to her forehead, a trail of ice brushing against the skin there.

_But not now._

* * *

He stared at the suit laid out on the cot, his feelings torn between irritation and resignation.

_A servant's attire—just as I expected._

Black boots and breeches, a white undershirt and cravat, a black vest, and a black jacket on top—but, of all these, his eyes fixed themselves on the pair of white gloves resting by the jacket, and he picked them up carefully, pressing the fabric with his hard, calloused fingers.

He frowned at the sensation, and threw them back on the bed.

 _I don't feel_ clean  _enough to wear those._

It was strange to think that, he supposed, since had long since washed and shaved as per the Queen's instructions. But when he looked down at the worn skin of his hands, it only served to remind him of the conditions related to his "return" to court.

 _You did this to_ yourself, _and thenceforth you will suffer the consequences of your actions._

He scoffed upon replaying his mother's words in his head, and promptly stripped off the simple clothes he had been wearing all day, pulling on the outfit prepared for him with a hard, set look. It felt less comfortable than his loose, breathable clothes back on the farm, and it had been so long, after all— _too_ long, really—since he'd last worn something so fitted.

_I still think like a prisoner, even here._

He snorted derisively at his own discomfort, and ran a hand across his newly-smooth jawline, his eyes sharp as he observed his reflection in the small mirror provided him.

It was strange to see his face again, undistorted by grime or cracks in the reflective surface. He looked practically  _burnished_ under the dim candlelight in the room, his skin having darkened a good shade or two during his year in exile. It was hardly as tan as those of his "relations" back on Vollan—and hardly so wrinkled by years of exposure to the sun—but the former rosiness in his cheeks had disappeared, as had the relaxed skin around his eyes.

 _At least I was able to get some sleep before this_ farce  _begins,_ he thought grimly, somewhat appeased by the reduction of the otherwise permanent dark bags under his eyes.

Truthfully, there had been nothing  _else_ to do after he had been unceremoniously dumped in the servants' quarters with the bare minimum of supplies needed to clean himself up. After being escorted with a full flank of guards to the washroom and then back to his room again, someone had only come in once to bring him a meagre lunch of bread and thin soup (likely from the bottom of the pot, he guessed) and to inform him that he would be expected at the ball that evening.

And after that . . . well, he'd been left to his own devices.

He had been too awake, at first, to sleep—which was understandable, given since the sudden, unexpected events of that same morning, not to mention the ones that had taken place since his arrival at the palace under cover of night—but even when the bustle abated, and he felt tiredness seep into his muscles, he found himself agitated by the lack of  _anything_ to occupy himself with in the tiny, nearly unfurnished room he'd been placed in.

 _A wooden cot with a mattress and thin sheet on top, a tableside dresser . . . and a_ mirror.

What he would need the dresser for, he had no idea—he'd been brought back to the palace with only the clothes on his back, and whatever other garments he would receive there, he doubted they would fill an entire  _dresser_ —even a small one.

Eventually, however, he'd succumbed to sleep (or, perhaps, plain  _boredom_ ); but his sleep, of course, had been just as fitful and unpleasant as his waking state.

 _That_ damn  _woman._

He scowled at the memory of the Queen's unbearably smug look—of her  _dangerously_ knowing eyes, the same colour as his own—and her imperious scolding, much as he tried to ignore it, echoed in his mind long after she had gone back to her own bed, never sparing him even a parting glance.

 _You should have been satisfied with what you had—and you already had the_ world _at your fingertips._

He could still hear that grating edge to her voice which appeared whenever she was annoyed at him, or made some typically patronising remark. Worse yet, he could still see her  _sneering_  at him as she said it.

 _But_ no _—you had to go and be the ungrateful_ brat _that you are, and ruin any chance you might have had for lasting contentment._

Nothing could push her words from the front of his mind—not boarding a carriage and then a boat for the first time in almost a year, nor feeling the sea air against his dry skin, the waves rolling tempestuously, nor even seeing the palace as they arrived at its private dock in the shadow of the very early morning hours, the kingdom still covered in a veil of darkness—and as he sat down on the side of the cot, now fully dressed in his dark suit, those words pressed down on his skull more fervently than ever.

_If you had only been a bit more persistent, you could have won the heart of the Snow Queen herself._

He suddenly barked a short, harsh laugh at that, and the sound, he recalled with an uneasy shudder, was not unlike the Queen's.

 _She doesn't know a_ thing  _about it,_ he thought bitterly, and finally snatched the gloves from the bed again, grasping them tightly. Suddenly, he didn't care that they felt alien in his hands, like relics from an ancient world he had long since forgotten. Instead, all that mattered was what they  _symbolised—_ and  _that,_ he knew, was everything that she didn't think him capable of being ever again.

A man of character—of  _nobility_.

Even if they were servants' gloves, of cheaper and thinner make than the ones that had been hand-tailored for him as a prince _,_ there was still something about them, he knew, that held a kind of  _power—_ the power to be someone else, if only for a few hours.

_A power that she can't take away from me._

He put them on carefully, just like he used to, one finger at a time; and after each one, he smoothed out any visible creases, his brow furrowed in intense concentration.

 _I don't have to prove_ anything  _to her._

He breathed in with more confidence, his posture straightening as he took in his appearance once more. This time, however, his expression did not twist, nor did his eyes narrow discontentedly.

Strangely, in fact, something happened which he did  _not_ expect.

She'll _be wearing them too, won't she?_

He suddenly saw her staring back at him in the mirror—Elsa, the Snow Queen of Arendelle—and though it had been a long while since he had last seen her, her image was startlingly clear.

_A dress of ice, gloved hands, pale skin, white hair._

His gaze travelled up, and stopped.

 _Blue eyes._ Those  _blue eyes._

To his own surprise, he smiled—but his smile was almost a grimace.

 _I'll be seeing you soon,_ **Elsa.**


	11. Chapter 10: The Reunion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for bearing with me until now to get to this point, and my apologies for the delayed delivery. I'm having a very busy real life at the minute, so expect new chapter releases to be slightly more delayed than usual. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this one. You guys are swell.
> 
> There’s lovely fanart by fantasyofcarrie on Tumblr of the pink dress Elsa wears in this chapter. Check it out: http://fantasyofcarrie.tumblr.com/post/83439601163/in-which-i-decided-to-shamelessly-draw-this-from

# Chapter 10: The Reunion

Hans wasn't sure how the Queen had managed it—and indeed, he might even have been fairly impressed by her behind-the-scenes finagling of every minute detail related to the ball, were he not keenly aware of the fact that he was merely a  _pawn_ in her great scheme.

_Always have to be "Lord of the Castle," don't you, Mother?_

He had been standing fairly inconspicuously in the corner of the ballroom furthest from the entrance for over twenty minutes by then, flanked on both sides by guardsmen, but he had hardly raised so much as an eyebrow of suspicion in all that time.

At first he had been surprised by the lack of attention, since he was certain that the courtiers all knew about his coming back on account of Queen Elsa's very public request. As the minutes slowly passed, however, he wondered if they were actually aware that he was  _already_  there.

 _She_ did  _come and fetch me at some godforsaken hour of the night, after all,_ he reasoned, frowning.

Though it was the most plausible explanation, he still found it strange that the only person who paused for any length of time at the sight of him was a courtier by the name of . . . Sir Nicklaus? Nikolai? He shrugged to himself, having forgotten such useless information long ago.

Everyone else passed by without sparing him so much as a glance; or, if they did, it was only a curious one, noticing the guards by him, before they looked away again, moving on to the dancing, or the food, or the  _wine—_ and he had never wanted a drink so much in his entire life as he did in that moment, standing and waiting, endlessly  _waiting,_ and for what?

He still wasn't sure.

 _I suppose they don't recognise me,_ he mused, thinking of the tawny colour his skin had taken on with a grim smirk. It didn't help that he had come into the ballroom through a back door unused by the general court, and that he stood in the corner furthest from the action—and, moreover, that he was done up in the guise of a palace servant (a posh one, he noted, glancing at his gloves and black suit, but a servant nonetheless).

Even the guards by him—a dead giveaway otherwise, he thought, that he might be an untrustworthy character—were not  _so_ close as to raise such fears, their distance suggesting that they could have been doing anything, not just watching him _._

And so his green eyes latched resentfully onto the front of the ballroom, where the Queen's and King's thrones sat, empty and awaiting their arrival.

 _You_ wanted _it this way, didn't you?_

It seemed to be a pattern with the Queen, when he thought on it: the manner in which he had been stripped of his titles and tossed out of the palace a year ago, practically  _thrown_ onto the ship to Vollan, all without ceremony or a grand, public flogging; the sudden, quiet retrieval from exile, done in the dark of night with a small ship and only Her Majesty's most trusted guardsmen; and this surreptitious, almost  _silent_ reinsertion of the traitor prince back into the court, disguised as a lowly servant and thus going unobserved by everyone around him.

The guards, too, had been choreographed—after all, she wouldn't  _dream_ of giving him the satisfaction of attracting a public spectacle by keeping them too close to him—and especially not before her **own** arrival.

 _She wants me to be_ invisible,  _huh?_

He smiled morosely.

 _Well, I've managed that easily enough on my own, all these years—I don't need_ her  _help._

His hand tightened into a fist, briefly; then, as his eyes rose to observe the entrance again, he froze.

**"Ladies and gentlemen, Their Majesties King Oskar and Queen Therese—and Her Majesty Queen Elsa of Arendelle!"**

His hand relaxed, but his eyes were sharper than ever.

The applause was polite, but not overly loud, for the King and Queen, as per usual.

But for Elsa, entering in a light pink gown of silk with a white panel running down the front, all embroidered with flowers and leaves in silver thread and tailored perfectly to her graceful figure, the reception was far more welcoming, and a swell of whispers accompanied the increased noise. The courtiers were, no doubt, using the entrance as a cover for their gossip—and the Snow Queen had, evidently, provided  _excellent_  fodder for it with her curious actions over the past two days.

Knowing what little of Elsa that Hans did, he surmised that it was all likely generated unintentionally on her part. He couldn't imagine the young woman, anyway, having done anything but what her impulses had naturally urged her to—even if it would garner her a, well,  _heightened_ reputation at court as a result.

He frowned with displeasure as he realised that, from his position in the back of the room, he couldn't get a good look at her. Though he was a fairly tall man, it was still hard to see over the heads of the courtiers, who now crowded zealously around her, practically swallowing the small queen as they each sought to be greeted and received by her in turn.

It was a typically nauseating scene, he thought, remembering his own days at court. The obsequious bowing and scraping, the fluttering eyelashes, the suffocating scents of an unfathomable variety of perfumes and colognes, all mixing together into one,  _unbearable_  cloud—he couldn't say he missed much about these events, in retrospect.

 _It's not as if they ever paid particular attention to_ me,  _anyway,_ he snorted to himself at the huddled mass of bodies, now unable to pick the Queen of Arendelle out at all amongst them.  _And why would they? I was_ thirteenth _in line._

He supposed that, had he  _not_ just spent the past eleven months in hard labour, witnessing the herding of the sycophants around her might have bothered him—in fact, he probably would have even felt some jealousy at the sight (and, to some degree, he was surprised that he  _didn't_ feel any then)—but instead, he felt nothing.

Until, that was . . . he saw  _her._

_Mother._

She had caught him watching the scene, and drawn his gaze to hers as a result; and as their eyes met again for the first time since that morning, each pair judging the other intensely, he found his lips stretching into a wide, self-satisfied grin.

 _You're looking a bit_ worn out  _today, Your Majesty._

No amount of makeup, nor her naturally youthful features, could hide the tiredness in her cold eyes that had gone a night without their beauty sleep—and that pleased him far more than anything else had that day.

Her stare narrowed harshly at him when she noticed his smug expression, and he looked away again, refusing to give her any further insight into his thoughts for the evening.

 _Besides—there are far more interesting_   _things to be doing than staring at_ her  _all evening,_ he told himself, his grin subsiding as his gaze returned to the centre of the room's attention: Queen Elsa of Arendelle, the Star of the North . . . and still merely a speck of dark pink in the crowd.

_I wonder how we'll be introduced._

He was sure that, although the Queen had taken great pains to make him feel unimportant and small, she had still concocted some plan or other for actually bringing him and Elsa together at  _some_ point during the evening—and that, whenever this occurred, it was practically  _guaranteed_ to be a humiliating experience for him.

Nevertheless, he was curious about the particulars of how and when it would happen, and he steeled himself against all the possible scenarios which played out in his mind—she would loudly announce his presence in that very ballroom to the shocked gasps of the court, or maybe she would have the guards lead him out, only to have him brought back in through the main entrance for dramatic effect, confounding all the guests who had walked by him unawares before, or . . .

His frame tensed at his prospects, irritated that he should be so caught up in trying to guess at which of the Queen's stratagems she would employ against him that evening.

 _Remember—you don't have to prove_ anything  _to her._

He stood more self-assuredly at this point, his chin tilting ever so slightly upwards with what little pride he could muster.

_You don't have anything left to lose, anyway._

His nose wrinkled at the stray thought, and he shrugged it off, his eyes scanning the front of the room—and then focusing again when they found her, the crowd having finally dispersed enough for him to get a fuller view of the Snow Queen.

She was as impressively beautiful as he remembered, if not moreso: from the way in which her gown trailed elegantly behind her as she gently moved from courtier to courtier, speaking words he could not hear, to her long white hair, tied back in its familiar braid, interlaced with pink thread to match her dress and topped with a glittering crown, she seemed to  _glow_ under the chandeliers of the ballroom.

It was a little strange, he thought, to see her in such a plainly  _feminine_ colour, especially when he compared it to the blue dress of ice he had seen her wear on the North Mountain. Her current attire hardly seemed of the same calibre as that stunning work of art, though it served its purpose well enough for the occasion.

But as he recalled that day on the mountain with a mixture of awe and dread, he found it increasingly difficult to believe that the person he was looking at then—a young woman in a nice dress with a bejewelled crown, smiling politely at a crowd of strangers and seeming to entertain, at least half-convincingly, their assuredly inane attempts at making conversation with her—was the same timid, terrified, and tormented Queen Elsa of Arendelle whose anguish had covered an entire kingdom in ice.

 _She seems so_ composed,  _now. So . . ._ present.

Hans supposed that he should have expected her to have changed, after so long; after all, while he had been stuck on an island in the middle of nowhere, slaving away on a farm, she had most likely been learning the ropes of power, acquainting herself with Arendelle and its people, and  _re-_ learning how to be a sister to Anna.

It was understandable, given such circumstances, that she would become more confident and controlled—not to mention be better able to mingle with the likes of foreign dignitaries and cloying admirers.

 _Still, it feels like it happened too . . ._ fast.

There was something  _insincere,_ he mused, about this "new" Elsa—something, he realised, that reminded Hans of  _himself._

_You're still hiding, too—aren't you?_

He watched as her hands—concealed, like his, by white gloves—fidgeted nervously from time to time as she made her way through the crowd, her fingers lacing and unlacing while an unnaturally pleasant expression remained plastered to her pale, pretty face.

It was a fascinating thing to observe, if only because it gave him the satisfaction of knowing that he was still a better actor than she could ever hope to be. Seeing her hands as they went through the range of motions—clenching and unclenching, flinching, curling, stiffening—she was as easy to read as an open book, and  _twice_ as interesting.

 _Oh, Elsa—you can't fool_ me.

Hans's amusement grew as he observed her interaction with the princes. Based on her fidgeting alone, he could tell which of them she was more comfortable with, or inclined towards, or embarrassed around—all without ever having to look back up at her face.

(Though, of course, he did, and fairly often—her features were, admittedly, too striking to ignore  _entirely_.)

They were almost all there, he noted, with the exception of Fredrik, who was probably off in the corner with the other Royal Guardsmen, conspiring against Magnus as usual. To his surprise, though, he didn't see Adrian with him—and this was  _highly_ unusual, he thought, since the tenth prince was very nearly always playing the part of the loyal dog at the beck and call of his brother, the Captain of the Guard—though, when he realised just  _where_ his strawberry blonde-headed older brother had gone, he couldn't say he was shocked in the least.

 _Of course—he would be_ first  _in line to court the visiting queen._

He was more surprised, truthfully, to see Elsa actually  _responding,_ somehow, to his brother's charming advances; but since she had only been at court for two days, he supposed he could forgive her ignorance, and he watched, practically grinning, as Adrian's flock of female admirers enviously eavesdropped on the exchange from nearby.

She moved on quickly enough from him to the others: Harald, as plump as ever, and his wife, the frigid beauty Annette; Magnus and his charmingly horrible wife Karoline, as officious and pompous as Hans remembered even as they spoke with the queen, whose hands tensed during their conversation; Mathias, dark and brooding and  _alone_ , but whom Elsa curiously seemed to look sympathetic towards ( _he's probably feeding her sob stories about his family,_ he guessed, rolling his eyes); Ivar and Anders and their perfect wives and adorable children, boring and staid and normal, he supposed, in comparison to the others; Kristian, still tugging at his grey hairs tragically and probably still cracking his unbelievably stupid jokes, from the awkward smile on the queen's face; then the Ornaments— _no,_  he corrected himself exasperatedly,  _Henrik and Emil_ —and her stiff, but not tense, stance suggested that their chatter was likely the most boring yet, as he couldn't recall a single thing they'd ever said in their lives that was of any value to anyone; and finally, rounding out his incredibly pathetic group of siblings was Johannes—poor, insipid,  _vain_ Johannes—who couldn't seem to understand why Elsa wasn't as interested in his empty charisma as he was.

 _And to think I'm actually_ related  _to them,_ he mused, snorting to himself.

As his eyes passed over the group again, however, he wondered if, perhaps, he had forgotten about one of them—and he began counting the fools up in his head again,  _Harald, Magnus, Mathias, Ivar, Anders, Kristian, the Ornaments, Johann—_

 **"Hello,** **_brother."_ **

He turned to his side, and found the missing link.

 _Well, it's no wonder I overlooked_ you,  _Tor._

"Ah, there you are," he said, eyeing his brother with dull interest. "Shouldn't you be with the others?"

Tor's brow rose with just as little curiosity as his youngest brother's, and he shrugged.

"What's the point? I have no interest in this  _Snow Queen."_

Hans clucked at the remark. "Not very hospitable of you, brother. Mother would be  _most_ displeased to hear you say that."

Tor snorted. "She's 'most displeased' by  _everything_ I say."

Hans smirked a little. "You two are still at each other's throats, then?"

Tor glared at him through his long, red bangs, and crossed his arms. "Did you expect anything  _less?"_

Hans shrugged, keeping his eyes fixed on Elsa, still moving through the crowd, as they spoke.

"I guess not."

There was silence for a while before Tor spoke again, though the tone of his voice hardly matched the question he asked.

"So what are you doing all the way back here, anyway?"

Hans nearly rolled his eyes, his lip curling in irritation. "I don't  _know—_ I've just been  _left_  here." He frowned for effect. "She has something planned, probably."

Tor's brow rose higher at this. "And so, what—you're just going to  _wait_ for 'something' to happen?" A rare grin surfaced on his freckled features, and his grey-green eyes gleamed with a challenge. "That doesn't sound like you,  _brother."_

Hans bristled at the pointed comment, and at that  _knowing_ look on Tor's pale, slight face—far too slight, he thought, for someone who was supposed to be in the  _army—_ and he crossed his arms stubbornly, brooding.

"Things have changed _considerably_ for me over the past year, as you can imagine," he retorted spitefully, and remembered the Queen's vicious threat from that morning— _I will put you in the dungeons, where you belong, and_ this _time, I'll make_ certain _that no plea from Queen Elsa will save you from the miserable fate you deserve—_ before glowering at the scene in front of him: the wine swirling in the glasses; the band starting up the evening's entertainment; and the whiffs of perfume assaulting his nostrils as courtiers passed him by. "I can't bait her without consequence, like  _some_ can."

He eyed Tor contemptuously at this (if not a little enviously, as well); but his older brother just shrugged again in that aggravatingly indifferent manner, and watched the same scene coolly.

"I suppose that's true," he returned, if half-heartedly, since it was clear that he had lost whatever meagre interest he'd had in the conversation by then. After a moment, he started to walk away, throwing a wave over his shoulder, bored. He didn't look back at Hans.

"Good luck," he said—but the words only made Hans scoff, since there was no well-wishing behind them, nor a single care in the world about how the situation that evening would  _actually_ turn out for him.

"Goodbye to you  _too,"_ he muttered under his breath, glaring darkly.

It figured that the first person to recognise him—and to actually  _speak_ to him—was the one brother that no one, not even their  _mother,_ liked.

 _Better to be disliked than_ exiled,  _though._

He bit his cheek to keep from scowling, forcing himself to look ahead again.

 _Don't waste your time on someone as_ useless  _as him._

He was determined, then, to keep his attention  _solely_ focused on the Snow Queen in pink; and this time, his task was made easier when she looked up, and then to the side, and then—

_She sees me._

She had been nodding politely at the head of some important family or other while he talked at her—a large, round man whom he vaguely recalled from his childhood (but not well enough to recall anything about him, which meant he probably wasn't as important as he was making himself out to be)—but when her eyes locked on Hans from across the wide expanse of the gleaming ballroom, she stopped nodding, and blinking, and probably  _breathing,_ too . . . for a minute, at least.

He held her stare as boldly as he pleased, knowing it would baffle, if not  _incense_ her. But he also knew that she would want to get a better look at him, and to get a better look, she needed to get  _closer_. So he waited, patiently, as she processed the fact of his presence from the other end of the room, her entire waking mind now fixed on him.

He would have been flattered under different circumstances, he thought, by her staring at him so intensely—she was, if nothing else, a very attractive young woman, and because it had been a  _year_ since he'd had a woman look at him like that (or in any way at all, really, besides  _scornfully)_ , he found himself wanting to grin winningly back at her, to see if he could  _charm_ her like his dear older brother Prince Adrian.

_But I don't think she'd appreciate that at the moment, somehow._

So he kept his lips pressed in a reserved line, though his emerald eyes remained brazen, boring into hers. And he could see, after some minutes had passed—and the older man by her side noticed,  _at last,_ that she wasn't listening to him in the slightest—that her initial shock was quickly becoming replaced by the  _anger_ he had expected to inspire in her.

And as she finally walked away from the group around her without a word, approaching him practically in slow motion, her fists clenching and unclenching at her sides and her guards following behind her uncertainly, confused by their queen's sudden, purposeful movements, he had to marvel at how beautiful she looked when she was full of rage—and how  _dangerous._

Naturally, as the (in)famous Queen Elsa moved, so did the court; and as she made her way towards him, closer and closer by the second, their gazes followed her, some reaching him sooner than others. He couldn't help but smile, grimly, when he heard the chorus of gasps and whispers begin to flood the air around him . . . and the looks of horrified recognition cross the courtiers' overfed and overindulged faces.

Now  _they see me._

It was then, when Elsa stopped a good two metres away from him and the courtiers a good few metres behind  _her,_  that he understood it—that he understood  _everything._

 _Ah, Mother—you wanted_ her  _to find_ me,  _didn't you? How_ **clever** _of you._

It was the one ruse he hadn't thought of himself, and so  _of course_ the Queen would have—and he was impressed in spite of his irritation at being bested in the game.

On top of that, it appeared to achieve everything he'd imagined, plus more: humiliate him in public,  _check;_ emphasise how he's not even important enough to introduce properly,  _check;_ show off how defeated and submissive he's become as a result of his time in exile,  _check;_ force Elsa to confront him on her own and prove herself in front of the entire court,  _check._

This last trick, he guessed, was nothing more than the Queen's way of asserting her dominance at court, since there was no  _way,_ he thought, that Elsa could verbally dress him down in public the way that  _she_ could.

 _She's not unkind enough for_ that.

Then again, when he looked into those blue eyes—and he stopped thinking about what he  _assumed_ about her—he wondered if he was underestimating the Snow Queen.

 _They're stronger_   _than I thought they'd be._

He remembered so clearly the frightened, broken Elsa he saw in the mirror, staring back at him with a gaze full of despair and sorrow. The Elsa that was looking at him  _then,_ though, was different. Stronger, yes, but also . . .

_Proud._

He had seen her stubbornness before—namely with regards to dismissing his offer of marriage to her sister—but she had never come across as  _arrogant_ in the short time he had known her, nor could he say, looking back on that time, that she'd ever seemed anything but humble and timid.

Even after observing her that evening for as long as he had, he was taken aback by that resolve in her face, mixed with confusion as it was. He had taken the fidgeting of her hands as a sign of weakness, but now, he wasn't so sure.

_Perhaps it's just a habit._

He was especially surprised when she suddenly looked away from him, craning her head to the side, and he caught a glimpse of the pink thread in her braid as she did so, the colour complimenting her perfectly smooth white hair.

She was looking at the Queen, who was still some distance away, sitting with the King, and their gazes met with a sort of fluidity that he found . . .  _perplexing._

Then, even more mysteriously, the Queen nodded to her younger counterpart, almost as if to say  _go ahead, Elsa—he's all yours,_ and the young woman in pink nodded just barely in return. Her blue eyes, alert and poised and  _cool,_ instantly locked with his again.

"I wasn't aware that you were already here."

The grin tugged painfully at his lips, and though he quelled it, he couldn't stop himself from being just a  _little_ glib at her opening salvo.

"Nor was anyone else,  _Your Majesty,"_ he remarked, glancing at his side, "except Tor, that is."

Elsa didn't follow his glance like he expected her to, her eyes unnervingly latched onto his.

"You're dressed as a servant."

He kept himself from rolling his eyes—but the temptation to was  _maddening._

"You'll have to ask the Queen to explain that," he replied simply. "I'm  _sure_  it was her idea."

She was silent for a while after this, and he could see why—she was scanning his face, then his body, his gloved hands,  _everything—_ and had he not been so well-trained in the art of concealment, he might have blushed under her scrutiny.

Instead, he chose to play off his slight discomfort with her penetrating stare, his posture relaxing.

"What do you think, Your Majesty? Does it suit me?"

Her eyes narrowed at the facile question. "Do you understand why I requested your presence at court during my visit?"

He frowned a little, at first, at having his joke so bluntly ignored—but then, after  _that_ query, he felt his brief moment of mirth fade, and his lips set into a hard line.

"Actually . . .  **no** , I don't," he answered simply, "and I don't think anyone else around here does either, if I'm being  _perfectly_ honest."

Her expression darkened at that reply, and Hans allowed himself a small, smug look of victory.

 _I like this Elsa—the one who isn't_ hiding _._

"I needed to see your face again—for  _everyone_ to see your face again—so that they, and  _I,_ know that there's nothing to be afraid of—"

"Oh, yes, I  _know,_ Your Majesty," Hans interrupted, looking as if he'd heard that explanation a million times before. "You needed to prove that the bogeyman isn't real. I get it,  _really_  I do." His own, green irises narrowed back at her, and he relished the look of contempt this brought out in the young queen, her hands shaking by her sides. "But you must understand if I'm, well . . .  _sceptical,_ let's say, of your premise."

He eyed the other courtiers for a moment, pausing. "After all, I don't think any of  _them_ are really scared of  _me—_ and why should they be, when they're here, and I'm all the way out  _there,_ an insignificant speck on a faraway, tiny island?"

He stared at her,  _knowingly,_ and continued:

"But it's not about  _them_ at all, is it,  _Your Majesty?"_

Suddenly, Adrian appeared at her side like the gallant knight in shining armour he imagined himself to be, and his hand rested on the hilt of his sword, his perfect, swoon-worthy sea-green eyes staring viciously at his youngest brother.

"Show some  _respect,_ you  **bastar** —"

Elsa raised her hand, and silenced him; all the better, Hans thought with a raised brow, since he found it incredibly ironic that the blonde-haired, blue-eyed, handsome Prince Adrian should call  _him_ a "bastard."

 _What a_ joke.

"You're right," she admitted, "it's not about them—it's about  **me**."

He blinked in surprise, and opened his mouth to reply . . . but no words came out.

Her voice was like steel, cold and pure. "It's about how you tricked my innocent sister and left her for dead, and how you lied to my people,and how you tried to kill  _me_ and take  _my_ throne."

The room was silent—and the silence was  _eerie._

She continued. "But it's also about how you  _failed_ in all of these schemes—how you failed so  _spectacularly,_ in fact, that you ended up here, in front of me, wearing a  **servant's**  uniform."

A few of the courtiers tittered with laughter at this remark, but upon realising that Elsa wasn't laughing—in fact, laughter was the  _furthest_ thing from being emitted from her pink lips—they quieted down again, chastened.

Her eyes were harder, and  _darker,_ than he had seen since that day on the North Mountain, when she'd been on the verge of murdering the Duke of Weselton's henchmen.

"Maybe when you can appreciate  _that,"_  she told him, "you'll finally understand why I requested your return."

As she finished, her fists unclenched, and her hands clasped loosely together in front of her; she didn't wait for a reply from him as she turned away again, and stalked back towards the entrance of the ballroom.

The courtiers immediately began to gossip and fret amongst themselves, if more quietly than before, about the dramatics that had just taken place. Out of the corner of his eye, Hans thought he had caught the Queen smiling approvingly down at Elsa from her perch on the throne, not even bothering to send him a smug look of triumph like she normally would.

And so, just like that, he was invisible again.

This time, however, as he watched Elsa walk away, unintentionally showing him the lithe, smooth outline of her form through the back of the dress, he suddenly found himself remembering something that her sister had said to him—something that felt like it was from a  _lifetime,_ and not just a year, ago _._

_You're no match for Elsa._

He grinned.

_Maybe not, but . . . I'd still like to play the game._


	12. Chapter 11: The Intruder

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the kind comments and thoughtful observations. Glad the reunion between Hans and Elsa had a nice twist on what some of you were expecting. Consider this chapter a continuation of the last one; my apologies again for the later-than-normal delivery.
> 
> As always, you'll find some excellent fanart for this fic on my tumblr, calenheniel.tumblr.com, under the tag #WintersEndFrozen.

# Chapter 11: The Intruder

Elsa lost track of time as she stood on the balcony outside of the ballroom, staring out at the wide expanse of the capitol from her vantage point up on the hill where the palace was so prominently perched.

_It's funny how some distance makes everything seem_. . . small _._

The castle in Arendelle was so close to the surrounding town—just a bridge separating her from them—that standing there, so high above the public of the Southern Isles, made her feel uneasy by comparison.

(Made her feel as if she should think that she were somehow  _better_ than them.)

_And I'm not—I'm not at_ all.

And that, naturally, made her think of  _him—_ of how he had stood there, absurdly dressed in that servant's uniform, staring at her so boldly from across the room, and of how  _perverse_ it was that he didn't seem sorry in the slightest for what he'd done, not even after a whole year spent, supposedly, in hard labour—and her entire body stiffened visibly as she unwittingly coated the balcony railing in a layer of frost.

Upon noticing this, however, she sucked in a deep breath, and then exhaled; as she did, the frost faded away again, leaving the stone railing just as dry as before (but perhaps  _slightly_ colder).

She couldn't afford to upset anyone at court with her powers, be it through merely mentioning them or, heaven forbid,  _using_  them—nor did she really  _want_ to use them if she could help it, since she had already attracted enough attention as it was.

Luckily, it was just her there at the moment, late in the evening. Many of the guests, she guessed, had already left after having their fill of wine, and food, and  _drama_ ; and besides, most of them had had the sense to leave her alone after her little "reunion" with the traitor prince (or at least were dissuaded from following her outside with one or two harsh looks from Finn and Erik).

It was slightly absurd, she supposed, that the encounter between them had been as short as it was, considering the severity of his crimes and the confrontation she'd been expecting (which, admittedly, had been far more  _dramatic_ and prolonged in her imagination). But, seeing as she had been so caught off-guard by the way in which they were "reintroduced," she wouldn't have been able to stand the sight of him for much longer than she already had by the time she walked out.

She was still too  _confused,_ after all, by everything that had happened—and, more than that,  **irritated** with the apparent mastermind behind the evening's "entertainment."

_Therese . . . what were you_ thinking?

The Queen had bestowed a peculiarly  _admiring_ gaze upon Elsa as the young woman had turned her back on the "visitor" to the ball, seeming to approve of her words and actions. And though Elsa perhaps should've taken this gaze as a positive—a  _compliment,_ even, on how well she'd conducted herself in front of a man who, until recently, had  _terrified_ her—it only made her frown when she remembered it.

_Why didn't she tell_   _me he was already there?_

That question had been playing on her mind since she'd stalked out of the ballroom, and though she had her theories, none provided particularly satisfying explanations.

_She wanted to embarrass him._

Well, that was obvious enough from the way he was dressed, she thought, and rolled her eyes.

_She wanted me to find him on my own._

Her brow furrowed. But  _why?_

Her lips set thinly, and she glowered.

_She wanted to_ test  _me._

It didn't seem that far-fetched, when she really thought about it. After all, this was the same woman who'd sent her youngest son into exile without a second's hesitation, and then brought him back to court only to put him in a  _ridiculous_  costume, probably just to see how he would react.

It would seem to follow, then, that forcing Elsa to find him and confront him there, in the back of the room, observing everything around him with those keen, green eyes— _her_ eyes—was business as usual to the Queen of the Southern Isles, and was just another means by which she could sniff out the strong from the weak.

_I guess I came out strong, by her estimation._

This knowledge hardly reassured her, since she had the feeling that Therese's definition of "strength" was not exactly the same as her own.

_No . . . hers is strength through_ force.  _A force of_ will.

There was no  _love,_ or beauty, or empathy in that kind of "strength," Elsa thought—only a hardness that demanded respect, whether it was deserved or not.

_I don't want to be strong like_ that.

"Oh, Elsa. You're still out here?"

She froze at the sound of the Queen's voice, and reluctantly turned around to greet her.

"Yes, sorry. I just had to—to clear my head for a while, that's all."

Elsa didn't smile as she might have the day before, not having the energy for it—nor, really, the patience to put up a front when she actually  _did_ have a reason to appear annoyed.

Therese nodded at this, and joined her by the railing, looking unexpectedly contrite. "Don't apologise—that's perfectly understandable. Really,  _I_ should be the one to apologise for springing him onto you like that." She sighed, and tucked a loose strand of auburn hair behind her ear. "It was really meant more as further punishment for  _him_ than anything else, I assure you."

Elsa frowned at the apology, her hands tensing. "I understand that, but . . . I still wish you had told me in advance. It would've," she swallowed slowly, "been  _nice_  to know."

The older woman's eyes locked on her then, and Elsa just managed to keep herself from shrinking under them—but, to her surprise, a gleam of  _amusement_ ran across her irises.

"I know," Therese admitted with a small smirk, "but you handled it  _marvellously_ all the same, wouldn't you agree?"

Elsa reddened at this—whether because the queen's smirk reminded her of  _his_ or because, in some strange, twisted way, she actually  _did_ agree, she didn't want to say—and her fingers intertwined in embarrassment.

"I'd thought about what I would say to him for a long time now," she said quietly, her cheeks still pink, "and what he might say back to me, but . . ." She paused, and her fingers were  _itching_ to be bare again. "I'm not sure I ever expected  _that."_

Therese laughed a little despite Elsa's seriousness. "Nor did he expect  _you_ to stand so tall and speak as strongly as you did, from the looks of it," she returned, smiling widely as the young queen blinked, taken aback. "All the better, I say—now he knows not to  _underestimate_ you."

Elsa's lips pursed as she distractedly played with the embroidered, silver edge of her dress' collar.

_There's that word again—_ strong.

She brushed it off with some effort, her nose wrinkling. "But he—he didn't seem sorry at all. For  _any_  of it."

The Queen leaned on the railing, her hands in her lap, and her smile faded as she regarded Elsa's apprehensive expression. "He might not be," she replied, sighing. "But, knowing him . . . I'd say he's just putting on an act." She rested a weary hand to her forehead, frowning. "He's always been too prideful, and  _childish,_  to admit when he's done wrong."

It was odd, she thought, hearing Therese speak about him as if he were her son and not a stranger—it was the first time, she realised, that she'd done so since Elsa had arrived.

"So . . . there's no chance of him being  _openly_ apologetic, then?" Elsa ventured, her brow rising.

Therese shrugged, though a grin tugged at her lips. "After a few weeks of decent food, a bed to sleep in, and clothes that actually fit? He might even be  _thanking_ you before long."

Elsa bit her lip to keep it from turning down—whatever small moment of motherliness she'd witnessed was obviously gone—and she breathed lightly through her nose, her brows furrowing sceptically.

"I somehow doubt that," she remarked, and turned her eyes back to the dim lights of the capitol.

Therese followed the look over her own shoulder, pausing. "You must miss Arendelle," she observed faintly, seeing Elsa's tired, wistful expression.

The young queen blushed a bit, looking down at her hands. "It's only been a few days," she said, embarrassed.

Therese smiled patiently, turning around to stare out at the expanse of her kingdom. "A few days can seem like a  _lifetime_  when you're not used to being away from home," she said gently. "Admittedly, I don't travel much myself, because of that—I prefer being here, with  _them."_

She gestured towards the rows of little, crowded houses on this point, and Elsa felt her cheeks grow hotter.

_She was just so . . ._ familiar  _with all the commoners._

In retrospect, her comment to Leif about Therese had sounded so  _elitist,_ and horrible, that she wondered how it had come out of her mouth in the first place. Thinking on it, she placed at least part of the blame on her adviser himself, since he'd never been overly fond of interacting with everyday people, and  _certainly_ never expressed much approval during Council meetings of her attempts to bridge the gap between herself and them.

(She remembered in particular how he'd droned on and  _on_ about her impulsive decision to create an ice rink a few months after the Thaw in the castle's front courtyard, objecting to, among other things, the lack of safety measures associated with the "stunt" and the "unseemliness" of the Queen of Arendelle participating in such "frivolities.")

"Don't think that my relationship with them is the  _norm,"_ Therese interrupted her thoughts with a small grin. "I'm well aware of how . . .  _unusual_ it must seem."

Elsa bit her lip. "But I—I  _like_ that you're so close with them," she admitted. "I try to be, too, but—sometimes it's difficult," she continued vaguely, her forehead scrunching. "And I don't get to see them as often as I would like."

Therese nodded sympathetically. "It's always that way, at first," she agreed, dragging her fingertips lightly along the railing. "Just . . . give it time, and you'll do well," she said, and there was a note of confidence in her tone that surprised her companion. "Patience is an asset, Elsa. Don't ever lose it."

_Patience._

The word somehow brought to mind  _his_ image again—his  _patient_ eyes, waiting,  _watching_ her from the back of the room—and she had to swallow the scowl that threatened to overtake her features.

_Don't ever lose it._

* * *

Elsa found herself pondering on the exchange later, sitting at her desk, drumming her still-gloved fingers along the surface. She was purposely looking away from the mirror as Gerda tugged the pink ribbon gently from her hair, and placed her crown in its velvet-lined box on a nearby dresser.

_I'd say he's just putting on an_ act.

The other girls were tidying up the room, though Marianne had left already carrying the huge, heavy pink gown the young queen had worn. Although it was, indeed, a beautiful dress—perhaps the nicest she had worn in a long while, as Gerda had  _insisted_ that she save it for just such a special occasion as this—she felt relieved to be free from it. Her silk chemise and cream-coloured night robe that she wore overtop then were, by comparison, practically weightless.

_He knows not to_ underestimate _you._

Her tongue clicked in her mouth absentmindedly, and Gerda's hands fidgeted over her hair nervously at the sound. "Is something the matter, Your Majesty?"

Elsa blinked, and then blushed sheepishly, shaking her head. "No—nothing, Gerda," she murmured, looking at the woman in the mirror. "I was just . . . thinking about something."

_Patience is an_ asset,  _Elsa._

The older woman nodded, and then sighed. "Well, there's a lot to think about, now that  _he's_ back."

Her lips twitched with a deep frown at the comment, but she covered her mouth so her lady-in-waiting wouldn't see it. Nonetheless, the continued fussing taking place on her head only served as an irritant then, and so she turned around, attempting a gentle look.

"Gerda, if you don't mind . . . I'm really  _so_ tired," she began, and luckily, she didn't have to affect her weariness. "And I'm sure you and the girls are, too. Why don't you go back and get some sleep? I can take care of the rest."

Gerda hesitated, as she always did, for a few seconds; then, she relented, sighing deeply again, and placed whatever pins she had managed to remove from the queen's white hair into a small, round box on the desk.

"As you wish, Queen Elsa," she obeyed, curtsying, and snapped her fingers at the other girls. They promptly paused in their work, exchanging curious glances—but, seeing their queen's wan smile, they curtsied in understanding, and followed Gerda out the door.

When it shut, and the room was silent again, Elsa exhaled— _deeply._

_He might even be_ thanking _you before long._

She snorted as she finally freed her hands from the gloves and then continued where Gerda had left off with her hair, though her fingers worked at a much slower pace.

_As if he would ever_ thank  _me for anything . . . not that he shouldn't,_  she thought to herself with a slightly upturned nose,  _since I_ did  _change his sentence._

Considering how he had acted towards her, however—his brash words, his knowing smirk, and the way he had looked over her figure as she'd walked over to him, his green eyes practically  _drinking_ her in—she wondered if being in exile had actually had the intended effect on him at all.

She flushed in anger at the memory, pushing it from her mind as she forced her fingers to move faster, remove the pins quicker—anything to speed up the process of getting into bed, where at least she had a  _chance_ of falling asleep.

Elsa sighed a little when she felt her hair loosen as the last of the pins came out, and she dropped them in the same container as before, pulling her quickly-unwinding braid over her shoulder and running her fingers gently through her wavy tendrils.

_You handled it_ marvellously,  _Elsa._

The Queen's words almost made her smile— _almost_ —until she heard a strange, soft patter on the carpet behind her, and a familiar, smooth voice with it.

"You really should wear your hair down more often, Your Majesty. It suits you."

She didn't turn around, at first; she didn't need to, after all, to freeze the entire room in an  _instant_.

She wasn't surprised, when she finally looked into the mirror, to see him lying behind her on the formerly carpeted room of the floor—now an ice rink—since she'd heard the  _thud_ and grunt accompanying his fall.

Even so, just  _seeing_ him there, in  _her_ room—no,  **his** room—was enough to make her eyes flare up in indignation and  _fear_ all over again, and she stood from her chair with a piercing glare, crossing her arms protectively over herself.

"What—what are you  _doing_ here?" she hissed as he fumbled to get up again, just managing to get into a kneeling position before her hands instinctively lashed out, locking his legs and arms to the ground with chains of ice.

He grimaced at the sudden pull of the restraints on his limbs, though his lips quickly slipped into a smirk—a  _smirk!—_ as he adjusted to his new conditions.

"Nice to see you again too,  _Queen Elsa,"_ he quipped, and she merely scowled in return.

"I don't know how you got in here, or  _why_ you're here," she snapped, her arms tightly crossed as she strode to the door, "but I'm sure that my men would be  _happy_ to escort you out."

He tutted at her with glowing irises. "Oh—I wouldn't do that if I were you."

She paused mid-step, her hand on the doorknob—but her head whipped around, and she sent him her fiercest look, her teeth grit together.

"And why is  _that?"_

He rested back on his haunches for a moment, and that horrible,  _leering_ expression crawled over his features again. "Think about it, Your Majesty—you, the visiting queen, discovered alone at night in your bedchambers, wearing  _that,"_ he paused for effect, staring for  _far_  too long at her robe and the chemise peeking out from underneath, "with the traitor Prince Hans who tried to kill you and usurp your throne?"

She glowered at him, wrapping her robe tighter around herself. "I'll just tell them you snuck in while I was sleeping."

He clucked disapprovingly. "Your guardsmen, of course, would believe your story, and your  _virtue_ —but everyone else?" He raised a brow, gazing at her knowingly. "After raising such a fuss at court of requesting my presence . . . if they even caught a  _whiff_ of a rumour now, your reputation would be totally destroyed here within a matter of days, if not hours—and that's not to mention how the tale might be received back home."

She didn't want to listen to him—or, more correctly, she found his smooth voice too  _abhorrent_ to listen to as those poisonous words left his tongue, which, she guessed, was probably forked inside of his mouth—but her hand wasn't stiffly gripping the doorknob anymore.

_—stupid, sideburny, no-good, lying, not-even-that-good-looking—_

"Even if they dragged me off to the dungeons and declared me guilty, the rumours would still be there, Your Majesty—because those  _never_ go away," he continued after a moment, and she tried, and failed, to ignore how his eyes were  _glued_ to her face, to her hands, to any part of her that might give away how she really felt in that moment.

He leaned back against the side of the bed, and his grin grew. "But I don't have to tell  _you_ that, do I? After all, you're the  _Snow Queen of Arendelle."_

_Practically a_ legend.

Her arms constricted painfully against her lightly-clothed figure, and she turned away from the door entirely—away from  _him._

_Monster._

Her hands clenched as they gripped her biceps, and the beginnings of a powerful headache were forming in her skull.

_You can't run from this, Elsa._

Her brow knitted at that line— _did he say that?_ —but she couldn't bring herself to face him.

"How did you get in here?" she asked quietly, though the agitation in her voice was unmistakable.

She could practically hear him rolling his eyes behind her. "Well, this  _was_ my room, once, Queen Elsa," he replied, sarcasm dripping from his tone.

She scowled, finally looking at him again. "Just answer the question,  _Hans."_

His lip quirked up at her irritation, and he rolled his shoulders, obviously uncomfortable in his current restraints. "Being the youngest of this  _delightful_ horde of princes had its advantages growing up," he said dryly, glancing about the room. "Mainly that I got to know my way around the palace pretty well, over the years."

He stared at her pointedly. "Including all the ways to get  _in_ and  _out_ of this room."

Her nostrils flared as she spoke. "And including all the ways to get  _in_ and  _out_ of the servants' quarters unseen, I suppose?"

An amused smile spread across his lips. "Very good, Your Majesty," he taunted her, deepening her scowl. "Yes—that's right. Not that it was particularly difficult in the first place, though, since Fredrik's men are about as useful as trained monkeys when it comes to this sort of thing."

At the dark look she cast him, he glanced down at the icy bonds that held him, and back up at her. She caught the glance, her eyes narrowing, and the room grew even  _colder_ than it already was, making him shiver.

"If you think I'm going to remove those for even one  _second,_ you're  **sorely** mistaken," she spat, and he stretched his back a little against the bed, trying not to shudder again from the lowering temperature.

_Though I'm sure he wants to,_ she mused, observing his current attire—nothing more than a pair of black breeches and a light brown tunic on top—but she stopped herself from automatically warming the room out of some distant feeling of  _sympathy_ for him.

Elsa's nose scrunched up. "Anyway, why come  _here,_ of all places, if you 'know your way around the palace' so well, as you said?" Her arms relaxed a little, though they did not uncross entirely. "Couldn't you have just escaped altogether by now?"

His body was tense as he fought off the cold, though this didn't stop him from looking mildly exasperated by her query. "And go where, exactly? The palace is one thing—I know where all the guards are posted, when they rotate, when they fall asleep at their posts—but outside? In the city? At the  _port?"_ He scoffed at the notion, a visible chill running over his skin. "Even if I  _did_ manage to get off Strande—which is  _highly_ unlikely—where would I go? Odens? Corona? **Arendelle**?"

He chuckled coldly, and the sound made even  _her_ shiver involuntarily.

"My reputation precedes me, Queen Elsa, not unlike  _yours_ —except that I'm not a beautiful queen with ice powers inspiring fear and awe everywhere I go." He sighed. "Besides, even if the courtiers don't recognise me, the  _guards_ certainly will—Mother will have made  _sure_ of that," he continued, his nose wrinkling and his eyes glowing with caution. "And once the Queen has you in her grasp . . . well, let's just say she won't let go without a fight."

She bit her lip at this justification, unsure of whether to be more irritated by the fact that she had been called "beautiful" by a man who once tried to slice her open with a longsword, or to be slightly anxious at his last pronouncement.

She settled on the first, and her mouth curled unpleasantly at him as a result.

"You didn't answer my question,  _again."_

He looked up at her curiously, and she noted, absently, that the temperature in the room had stabilised.

"Oh? And what was that?"

Her brow twitched. "Why are you  **here** , Hans?"

He leaned back, making a small sound of understanding. "Ah, right.  _That."_

He paused—too long, and too  _dramatically,_ for her liking—but before she could snap at him to get to the point, he went on, gazing at the canopy of the bed above him.

"Well, I missed the old room, for one thing," he mused to himself, and then frowned. "Though I can hardly say it's  _my_ room anymore, what with all the tacky new furnishings they've put in it."

He stared in particular at the snowflake-embroidered throw as he said this, making Elsa's skin burn in annoyance—but then he continued, and whatever snarling comment she had been planning to throw at him died on her pale lips.

"But then, when I heard that our  _guest of honour_  would be staying here, well," he grinned, and his emerald eyes shined as they met hers again, "I couldn't resist the temptation to come and see it for myself."

She couldn't decide which was worse—his explanation, or that  _smug_ look on his face—but she settled on the former for the sake of getting him out of there as soon as possible.

"That's hardly a good reason to  _intrude_ where you're not wanted—and where you're not  _supposed_ to be."

He shrugged at that, and his shoulders rolled again, stiffer than earlier. "And here I thought you'd be  _eager_ to freely speak your mind—now that we're alone, that is," he remarked flippantly, and smiled wide enough to cause her blood to boil."You didn't seem like you were finished, earlier; I can imagine, after a  _year,_ that you would have more to say to me than just  _that."_

Her face was hot at this point, though snow began to fall over her head, and around the room. Correct as he may have been, she could hardly admit as much when she was too angry with him for simply  _being_ there to be able to summon from memory whatever long, convoluted speeches she had internally prepared should the current situation ever arise.

_Though I never could have imagined it taking place like_ this . . .  _or even the way it did in the ballroom._

"I don't have anything else to say to you," she lied.

He stared back sceptically. "I don't believe you."

The snow grew heavier, dusting his entire body, and she bore her teeth at him, seething.

"I don't  _care,"_ she ground out contemptuously, her hair spilling all around her shoulders as it came completely undone from the wind. "I just want you to leave,  **now**."

She was expecting another clever retort from him, since he always seemed to have one at the ready; but, to her surprise, he merely glanced at the chains of ice around him again, his expression cautious.

"As the Queen commands."

She pinked at that—somehow, paired with his calm look, it was a more effective reply than any of his pretentiously witty ones—and so she forced herself to swallow, and willed her heart to slow, and thought of Anna and a face full of truffles.

_Anna._

Her eyes closed as she repeated her sister's name in her head, and her arms finally unclenched and came to rest at her sides, her fingers uncurling from their fists.

_Anna._

A few minutes passed in this way, though it could have been a few hours—and all she could hear was her own heartbeat in her ears, her calm pulse in her wrists.

**_Anna._ **

When she finally opened her eyes again, the snow and ice were gone—

And so was Hans.


	13. Chapter 12: The Bachelors

# Chapter 12: The Bachelors

"Strange place for a meeting, Mother. And so late at night?"

Therese glanced tiredly over at Johannes from her seat by the fire as her twelfth son entered the room, her eyes narrowing slightly when she observed him run a smooth hand through his fine blonde hair.

She'd been staring into the flames for a few minutes by then, waiting; when she heard Fredrik finally close the door, she knew that they were all finally there, just as she'd asked.

"I needed to speak to you all in private," she explained succinctly, and her gaze flitted briefly to Emil and Henrik standing on either side of her chair. "And your brothers were kind enough to lend us their office for the occasion, especially considering they'll be starting so early in the morning tomorrow."

"And  _what_ is the occasion, exactly?" Kristian inquired, and rubbed his eyes sleepily, glancing at the grandfather clock by the opposite wall. "It really  _is_ getting late."

Therese rolled her shoulders back against the chair. "This won't take long, I assure you." Her eyes passed over each of the princes in turn, landing last on Fredrik, who returned her stare with a narrower one. "It's about the Queen of Arendelle."

Adrian's eyes lit up. "Queen Elsa?"

"Is there any other?" Kristian retorted, earning a scowl from the strawberry blonde. He looked between the brothers gathered in the room—Johannes, Henrik, Emil, Adrian, Fredrik—and his brow furrowed. "This doesn't have anything to do with . . .  _marriage,_ now does it, Mother?"

Therese's lip almost lifted at the observation _._ "Why,  _yes,_ actually," she returned after a requisite pause, and smiled with all of her false pleasantries. "It has  _everything_ to do with that." She continued more seriously: "In fact, I'll simply make it clear: Arendelle may not be the largest kingdom in the North, or even our most important trade partner, but with Queen Elsa at the helm, it could prove to be a  _powerful_ ally for us."

She drummed her fingers lightly against the arm of the chair, watching her sons' reactions closely. "I know it may seem odd to ask this of all of you, especially considering that our family has not made the best . . .  _impression_ on the young queen in recent years, but . . ." she trailed off for a moment, and her hand stilled. "I'm hoping we can change that, while she's here with us. And all of you will be  _integral_ in making sure that our relations with her . . .  _improve,_ so to speak."

A knowing look slid across her eyes. "And that means being on your  _best_ behaviour during her visit."

"And I was beginning to wonder why Tor wasn't here," Adrian remarked with a snort, leaning on one of the many over-filled bookshelves inside the spacious, oak-lined chaplains' office.

Johannes blinked uncomprehendingly. "What does  _he_ have to do with anything?"

Fredrik's brow rose before the Queen's could, and his arms crossed impatiently. "In case you haven't noticed,  _Jan,"_ he drawled, and Johannes glared at him, "Mother wants us to try and court Queen Elsa."

The youngest prince frowned even more deeply. "What—we're  _all_ potential suitors for Queen Elsa?" he asked, slightly disbelievingly. "Mother, isn't that . . . isn't that too much?"

"Much as I  _hate_ to admit it, I have to agree," Adrian added, displeased. "Wouldn't it be better to entrust just one or two of the more  _capable_ among us with such a task?"

"Per—perhaps Adrian is right," Emil said timidly at her side, looking down at his feet.

Henrik nodded, his pale cheeks red. "Yes, you know us, Mother," he agreed quickly, his voice quiet, "we're not really  _skilled_ with this sort of thing—"

"Oh,  _honestly,_ you two," Therese cut in, exasperated, pressing a hand against her right temple. "You're chaplains, not  _eunuchs."_

"Could've fooled me," Johannes said, and earned a few chuckles from everyone except the Queen, who glowered at him as the twins bowed their heads, their faces burning in embarrassment.

"I'm not—I don't really think this is a good idea either, though, Mother," Kristian said suddenly, and looked unusually uncomfortable, his hands twitching at his side. "I mean, like you said, it was only a year ago that Hans—" he paused at the Queen's glare, cleared his throat, and corrected, "the _traitor_ tried to  **kill** her, and now, we're going to . . .  _court_ her? It's just a little—"

_"Please,_ Kristian," Adrian interrupted, rolling his sea-green eyes, "we know, all right?  _Everyone_ knows that you're still sweet on your  _darling_ Annette—even Harald." He stared at his older brother with an open sneer. "But you'll never have her, because she'd never have  _you,_ so just give it up already, would you?"

Kristian flushed a shade of crimson darker than his mother's hair, and she put a hand up to silence the two before they could bicker further.

"That's  _enough,"_ she chided with a frown, her hand tense. "Really, how will we make a good impression on the queen when you all do nothing but harp on one another in this manner, hmm?" She placed her hands back in her lap, but eyed them expectantly. "We need to look  _unified_ before her, at the very least."

Adrian averted his gaze from hers. "Yes, Mother," he mumbled under his breath, though Kristian said nothing, still red with anger.

"What about the married ones?" Johannes asked before Therese could draw any satisfaction from the display of obedience. "Do they know about this?"

"They know," she said simply, "and they won't interfere."

"How can you be so sure?" he countered, suspicious. "What about Mathias? He's always been so bitter, after all, and who  _knows_ what he might do—"

"I'm sure you don't need  _Mathias's_  help to make Queen Elsa lose interest in you, Jan," Adrian cut him off, ignoring the burn that spread across his brother's cheeks. He would've added something else, had it not been for the glare Therese shot him, then—and so he snapped his mouth shut, and she stood from the chair gently, her gaze resting on the fire.

"You're all tired, and I've already kept you here too long," she said, glancing between them again, "so get some rest. There's another busy day planned for tomorrow, so you'll need your strength—and your  _patience."_  Her brow rose when they frowned at this reminder, and she waved towards the door. "Now go, all of you."

The dismissal was short, and curt; they knew full well, by then, when they weren't wanted (or needed).

"Fredrik, Adrian. You two stay," she said gently, just as the two Royal Guardsmen stood by the door, watching the others leave. Once they'd gone, Fredrik shut the door again, but Therese didn't sit down like before.

Instead, she walked over until she was in front of them, their eyes locked with hers, and she placed a rare hand on each of their shoulders, pressing them through their jackets.

"I'm counting on you two to make the Queen feel at  _home_ here," she urged with a whisper of a force, and the light from the fire danced across her bright green eyes. "I have high hopes, you know."

Fredrik stared back knowingly. "You've been doing your part already, it seems." He glanced at the door behind him. "Long walks through the garden, late at night, when everyone else has already gone to bed?"

Therese sighed, her hands releasing them as she crossed her arms. "Fredrik  _dearest,"_ she began, frowning, "you could've just  _asked,_ and I would've told you about it. You know how I  **hate** all of this . . .  _spying_  business."

Adrian's nose wrinkled at the comment. "You didn't know, Mother?"

She glared at the young prince. "Of course I  _knew._ Did you think I'd ask for Karl specifically on that night if I  _didn't_ want you two to know about it?" She frowned. "It's just the principle of the matter. I prefer being asked  _directly_  about these things."

Fredrik's lips pursed as he held his tongue, but Adrian reflexively scoffed.

"Of course, Mother," he replied, rolling his eyes again, and her gaze narrowed at him.

"Don't make me  _regret_  entrusting you with this," she warned, and her tone was enough to silence him, even if he only did so out of fear. "Anyway, I have it on good authority that the Prince of Madris has been asking for Queen Elsa's hand—"

"The Prince of  _Madris?"_ Adrian interjected, unable to help himself. "You mean those olive-skinned, pig-eating, drunken layabouts—"

" _Yes,_ my  **dear** boy, the very same," Therese stopped him with a cluck of her tongue, rolling her eyes in much the same manner as he did before her. "However, I  _also_  know, now, that Queen Elsa has not yet accepted any such proposals of marriage. And since Arendelle's other neighbours are too weak and  _afraid_ to see its potential, this is the perfect opportunity for us to strike while the iron is . . . 'cold,' if you will."

She chuckled at her own quip, though her sons remained silent; at their disbelief, she merely looked entertained. "Yes, yes, I know— _terrible_  joke. Your father must be rubbing off on me."

Adrian's mouth twitched at this, and Fredrik's brow clouded over, brooding, but the latter managed to dispel the Queen's mirth in an instant, unamused.

"What about the others?" Fredrik asked.

Therese didn't look worried. "You know as well as I do that for all your brothers' many  _talents,_ they hardly include courting fine young ladies." She shrugged. "Let them fall on their own swords."

Adrian smirked a little. "Sounds easy enough: seduce the Snow Queen, marry her, secure Arendelle as a permanent ally—"

"—and  _harness_ her power," Fredrik finished with a darker stare.

Therese paused—and in her pause, she moved towards the fire and stood by it, staring into the flames once more. "It's never as simple as that," she said quietly,  _warningly._ "And besides, she's not like one of your little  _girls_ at court," she added, looking at Adrian pointedly as he huffed. "And you should  _both_ know by now that a  **queen** is not a woman to be trifled with."

There was silence after this, both princes too reluctant to admit anything . . . but knowing full well that their mother spoke the truth.

"What about Hans?" Fredrik said finally, his lips curling as his brother's name left them.

She sighed for what seemed the hundredth time. "What  _about_ him?"

Her second-eldest replied in a more irritated fashion than usual. "He'll get in the way, once he realises what's going on—and that won't take long," he pointed out, and his tone grew bitter. "He  _always_ gets in the way."

Therese waved away the sentiment. "Let me worry about Hans," she told him, ignoring the discontent etched into his features at the paltry reassurance. "In the meantime, you two must play your parts . . . for your  _country."_

She stared longer at Fredrik, after this; when Adrian followed her stare to meet the Captain of the Guard's, the older man glared sharply down at him.

"That will be all, boys," she concluded, not bothering to look at them as she gestured to the door a second time. "I'll be out in a moment, so please—wait outside until then."

They acquiesced without another word spoken, and when the door clicked shut, she exhaled, pressing her palms flat against the mantelpiece to keep herself steady. It had been a long day by then, and the effects of it were even starting to wear on  _her,_ the Queen of the Southern Isles, renowned for her stamina and strength.

But when she was standing there, alone, with nothing but the fire to keep her company, her eyes drifted back to the centre of the hearth—to the blue flame she might have seen at its core—and her hands tightened into fists at her sides.

* * *

Elsa awoke with the sunrise . . . though it wasn't as if she actually  _wanted_ to.

She hadn't gotten much sleep to begin with, considering the events of the night before, and when she remembered them with unnervingly stinging clarity, she became annoyed all over again.

It was still a complete  _mystery_ to her: how he'd gotten in, how he'd gone out, and, most pressingly, how she'd been unable to  _hear_ him when he'd gone out. Thinking back on his explanation of  _I got to know my way around the palace pretty well, over the years,_ she merely scoffed in disbelief.

She'd inspected all the corners and crevices of the room not long after he'd left, searching for the secret passage he must have used to get in (the windows had all been safely shut since before his arrival), but she'd turned up empty, even after nearly two hours of looking.

She'd probably gone over some areas once, twice,  _three_ times, if not more, and though she'd always thought of herself as a careful person—someone who noticed things that others didn't, found little hiding places for safekeeping that no one else would ever spot, had a knack for remembering names and faces where most people simply forgot—his disappearance left her, for once, truly  _stumped._

She'd only managed to convince herself that she should get some sleep with the idea that the room probably had some loose floorboard or stone that she just had to discover and then secure more tightly. But then, the thought that she didn't  _hear_ him leaving when lifting wood or moving rock normally caused a racket only served to make her sleep restless and wearisome.

It was all needlessly frustrating, she thought as she sat on the bench by the window, playing with bits of her hair still tousled from lying on the pillows. It was simply too  _aggravating_ that she'd had to declare defeat and surrender to sleep that night.

Elsa didn't like admitting that she had been beaten—or, worse, that she had been  _outwitted._

_Especially by someone like_ him.

It was one thing not knowing how he got in or out of the place; it was another altogether that he had managed to catch her so off-guard, and with words alone convince her not to mention his presence to anyone else.

Thinking back on what he'd told her, she nearly hissed, because when she imagined how she might have handled the situation differently (now that her mind wasn't running wild in a panic at the sight of him), it seemed clear to her that she could've just called one of her guards in while Hans was chained to the ground, explained what had happened, and then had the guard force Hans back out of the room the way he came, with no one else knowing of the incident save for those three.

_Then again,_ she paused, her nose wrinkling,  _he might have yelled, or announced his presence somehow, just to_ spite  _me._

And it might have looked strange to the Royal Guardsmen posted outside, too, she thought, to call a single guardsman into her quarters, so late at night (another possible "stain" on her  _reputation,_ as Hans had put it), and if it had been more than one she'd called in, then the other palace guards would've known that something was amiss. The drama could have even escalated to the point that the traitor would've been dragged away kicking and screaming down the halls, onto the docks, and back on the first boat to exile.

Somehow, though, the idea of him being sent back after only one night on Strande was unnerving to her . . . if only because she hadn't gotten a  _single_ thing that she wanted from him yet.

_Like his_ **apology** ,  _for example._

That fact set her mouth all askew with a frown again, and she grumbled to herself as she pressed her face in her hands, trying to shake the annoyance from her tired body. It certainly wouldn't be of any help to her to be so agitated that early in the morning.

She thought of Anna, naturally, as a way of calming herself down; but even as her sister entered her thoughts, all bright-eyed and grinning, Elsa could only wonder about what the young woman might have said or done that night, faced with the return of her former "fiancé" and nemesis.

_She probably would have punched him again._

She laughed a little, since the notion of Hans being knocked down to the ground by Anna's fist—as opposed to her ice—was far more satisfying. Somehow, Elsa knew that Anna would be tickled to find out that her older sister had imagined just such a scenario.

Of course, the prospect of  _actually_ telling Anna about him being back in the palace, much less in her  _room,_ quickly chilled whatever brief flash of mirth she'd felt. If not for the latter development, Elsa might have been confident in sending out the letter she'd written for Anna on that very morning. As things stood, however, she was feeling uneasy again, and  _unnerved_ that the Princess Regent of Arendelle should be troubled by the foolish actions of her older sister, the  _Snow Queen._

In fact, Hans's appearance had furthered the congealing of the guilt sitting at the pit of Elsa's stomach—had made her realise, with growing displeasure, how much of an impulsive,  _moody_ child she still was on the inside. She'd absently felt that way over the last year or so, since the Thaw: that there was something  _stunted_ about the way she felt things, after all that time spent locked away in her room. This visit had only confirmed her fears of such, from that first day in the throne room until then.

Elsa stood from the bench with a sigh, clenching her bare hands at her sides, knitting her brows together, and breathed silently through her nose.

_There's no point dwelling on_ that  _anymore._

She'd done that too much, and Anna had even told her so, on many occasions, before taking her by the arm and dragging her outside for gardening, or a stroll through the town, or a hike with Kristoff into the mountains (on the occasions that he consented to it, after Anna's begging and pleading had finally worn him down enough).

And even if it were true that she was "damaged," or traumatised, or  _everything_  . . . she just had to push through it.

She had to be  _honest._

With a slightly more poised stance, she sucked in a breath, and walked over to the desk. She vaguely recalled hastily shoving the letter in one of the drawers before Leif had come in the afternoon before, and she scanned their exteriors briefly, searching her memories for the right one.

_First one. Top left._

She sighed, relaxed, and her hand slid it open.

Open, that is, until—

Her eyes widened, and frost spread over the desk's surface.

_It's_ **gone.**

* * *

Her hands fidgeted in her lap, at her front, by her sides—fidgeted as if they were clasping at something, or  _for_ something, that wasn't there.

_Something like a letter,_  she reminded herself sourly through every event that she was forced to attend, or comment on, or, Heaven forbid,  _participate_ in; thankfully, though, she mainly only had to do the first of these, as her third afternoon in the Isles was spent touring the Royal Army's training grounds on Strande.

It was all par for the course: sparring matches between the men (all style and performance, nothing meant for  _real_ combat, which she had a feeling the Isles had not seen for a long,  _long_ time); droll, dry lectures about the history of the facilities delivered by Prince Magnus, whom she had now pegged in her mind as one of the more erudite amongst the brothers (which was to be expected of a member of the King's Council, though it made his position as an Army general, she noted, likely only a ceremonial one); a walk through the armoury and all the various weaponsmiths working nearby; and, last but not least, several pathetic attempts at conversations with any number of the Royal Family, including the Crown Prince, Tor, and Adrian.

(The latter prince seemed to  _always_ have time to spare away from his duties of guarding her to stare at her with those luminous eyes—somehow, that was really starting to  _bother_ her).

It didn't help matters that her first question at the beginning of the tour had set a sour mood for the rest of it— _Where is Prince Mathias?_ —as Magnus, his brown beard bristling lightly and his blue eyes sharpened with the traces of a bad memory, had quickly answered that  _Mathias is_ **otherwise**   _occupied, Your Majesty._

She hadn't pressed further on that point, sensing that whatever relationship existed between the two wasn't a  _good_ one, to say the least. Besides, Adrian had shot her a warning look when she stared after Magnus in confusion, shaking his head lightly, and whatever other questions she had regarding the fifth prince quickly fell from her lips.

Not that she was  _particularly_ curious about it; really, it was just a way of passing the time, because otherwise, her thoughts would meander, as always, back to the memory of that empty drawer.

The image left her with a kind of strange,  _hollow_  sensation in her breast, much as she tried to ignore it (or at least not  _indulge_ it, as she was wont to do). But since the people surrounding her seemed equally uninterested in the proceedings, and there wasn't even  _Therese_ to keep her company with light chatter, the Queen and King being busy that afternoon with seeing petitioners . . . that hollowness seemed to  _pulse_ within her.

It was obvious, as well, who was to blame for that low sensation of despair—of  _impotence_.

_Hans._

She bit her lip to keep from frowning as the sound of his name echoed in her mind, and she nodded blankly at something Magnus was telling her about a "fine blade, crafted by the best swordsmith west of Odens," though she didn't care much for swords, nor from whence they came.

Not when compared to that letter,  _Anna's_ letter—the one she had only ever meant for  _her_ eyes.

She prickled at the thought that he should have it then, and that he'd probably read it (or, knowing him,  _memorised_ it, seeing as he didn't have a shred of decency about him, much less  _honour),_ since he likely had little else to do during the day, confined to the servants' quarters. She doubted that he could escape the watch of the guards for very long while it was light out, even if he  _did_ know "all the ways" around the palace.

The idea that he would have read it so many times by then (no,  _memorised_ it, she corrected herself with a glower), and considering that it had only just gone past noon, Elsa found herself even more on edge with every passing minute. She glanced down at the princes' pocket watches whenever they would pull them out, desperately wishing the tour would be over and that night would  _finally_ arrive so that she could get back what was hers . . . not to mention give the traitor the piece of her mind that she'd been unable to the night previous.

It would be difficult, though, to corner him in that way later. She'd been reminded by the king during breakfast that they would be holding a public fete in her honour in the main city square that same evening, and she assumed that her itinerary during the event would be as crowded as on all the other days of her visit.

Still, Therese had asked her, again, if he would be allowed to attend; and though Elsa's instinctive reaction had been to say  _no,_ still feeling so roiled up from their prior encounter and full of bitter rage that he'd  _taken her letter right under her nose,_ she'd acquiesced, again—but only because she  _had_ to get it back from him, and the fete was as good an opportunity as any that she'd have to do so.

"Your Majesty, may I have a word?"

She'd forgotten, until then, that Leif was there, too. He'd melted into the background long ago in her mind, she supposed, since he was a fairly reserved and quiet man (unless, of course, someone asked him for his opinion; then, he was  _full_ of things to say).

She nodded, glancing at the princes off to the side. Magnus was studying the markings on some antique pistol or other in the armoury, and Tor stood sullenly, some ways behind him, exchanging a faint glare with Fredrik.

And as for Adrian, well . . . she wasn't surprised when she found his gaze settled on her, though she pretended not to notice, and refrained from rolling her eyes.

_Not very_ subtle,  _is he?_

She stood next to Leif a few metres away from the others, and his eyes were passive. As always, though, a note of caution was threaded through them.

"How are you . . .  _feeling,_ Your Majesty? After last night?"

Elsa blinked, surprised, and looked up at him.

_Is he . . . is he actually asking how I'm_ doing?

She tried not to giggle at the idea. "I'm fine," she assured him, though her nervous fingers said otherwise. "Really, I—I know it was all a bit  _strange,_ how it happened, but . . . it went better than I thought it would, to be honest."

He let out a small breath of relief, though a frown twitched on his lips. "I'm glad to hear it, but I must admit that I wasn't very  _pleased_ with the way he was presented to you." He eyed her pointedly. "Was there any sort of . . .  _explanation_ given as to why they chose to go about it in that manner?"

She sighed, and shrugged a little, clasping her hands in front of her. "Nothing that's worth repeating," she said simply, ignoring his deepening frown. "Honestly, Leif, don't worry yourself over it," she told him, and tried to smile as she continued: "What's done is done, after all, and perhaps—well, perhaps the worst is already behind us."

The lie hardly left her lips before she swallowed, thick and uneasy, and she had to fight not to meet Leif's curious look at those words. They obviously hadn't sounded very convincing.

Nonetheless, he shifted in his stance a moment later, and ceded the point. "Perhaps," he said, "but always keep an eye out, Your Majesty. And not just on the  _traitor_."

His eyes darted between the princes and their guards, then, and she followed them—followed them, and just as quickly returned to her hands.

_Keep an eye out on_ all  _of them._

Well, she thought with pursed lips, she didn't need  _Leif_ to tell her that. Not when the princes' blinks were on her in one moment and on the ground the next, not when the Queen had taken such an interest in her . . . and not when her letter was already in the hands of the traitor, likely crumpled, perhaps even yellowing at the edges.

Just like  _their_ s had been, all those weeks ago, clutched in her hand.

She glanced at him after a beat. "I do try to stay on my guard."

"That's for the best, I think," he returned quietly, though she noticed his arms flex irritably at his sides. "I don't approve of how Prince Adrian looks at you, for one thing."

Elsa's eyes darted imperceptibly to her side, catching a flash of strawberry blonde and blue. She sighed a little. "He might not mean anything by it," she ventured, her hands naturally folding together in front of her. "Though I admit . . . he  _does_ stare a bit too long, sometimes."

"That's putting it  _kindly,"_ Leif replied succinctly, his lip stiffening at the sight of the young man a fair distance from them. "More than likely," he continued, crossing his arms, "he means to court you while you're here." He scowled, and added under his breath: "Him! The  _tenth_ in line courting a sovereign queen when she is here on a  _diplomatic_ mission—why, the very  _nerve_ of it!"

She might have defended the blonde prince on a different day, or at least offered a rebuttal in the way of reminding him that they were meant to be  _friendly_ with the foreign court at which they were staying. However, seeing her adviser so churned up over the innocent flirtations of the prince, his brow creased and his hairs standing on end, Elsa was suddenly reminded of Kai—who, no doubt, would have had the same reaction—and thinking of Kai only made her smile against her better judgment.

"Don't worry, Sir Leif," she patted him lightly on the arm, trying to keep her lip from crimping into a grin. "I don't fall so easily for the charms of a prince—not even one as handsome as him," she added at the end, enjoying how his eyes tightened in irritation.

"I should  _hope_ not, Your Majesty," he said moodily, eyeing her sharply.

She bit back a laugh, and attempted a serious look in return. "Anyway, I have  _you_  here to look after me, don't I?" she asked him, a smile cracking at the edges of her mouth. "And to keep an eye on  _dangerous_ men who might be after my hand?"

He bristled at her glibness. "You may think this all a great  _game,_  Queen Elsa—a game in which pretty men court pretty girls without consequence or ulterior motive," he began sternly, "but  **I** do not." He glowered ahead, watching the princes, but Elsa's gaze was fixed on him. "The King and Queen, no doubt, are more interested in the diplomatic affairs we  _specifically_ came here to settle, but their sons?"

His brow darkened. "You must remember, Your Majesty: before they are princes, they are  **men**. And  _men—_ especially the young, marriageable ones—are  _not_ to be trusted."

Elsa blinked in surprise, unsure whether to be thankful for the man's advice, or bemused by it. After all, hadn't Leif himself once been a "young, marriageable" man? And would he have honestly characterised  _himself_  as "not to be trusted," all those years ago?

_Papa would never have said something like that._

She grimaced at the thought. It wasn't as if she didn't frequently wonder what her late father would or wouldn't have said in certain situations—in fact, she consulted the memory of the former king far too often, even for her own liking. Rather, she supposed that she didn't like the idea of Leif acting as some kind of surrogate, especially when it came to . . .  _those_ sorts of matters.

_Not that Papa actually ever_ talked  _to me about this,_ she reminded herself unhappily,  _nor did Mama, really, either._

She couldn't even blame them, in retrospect, for not having said much on such subjects—not when she'd shut them out for so long, not when she'd been too pathetic and weak to even bring herself to attend their funeral, and certainly not when she'd still been unable, all those years later, to—

She bit her lip, holding in a shuddering breath; she didn't want to complete that thought.

_You should be_ grateful  _to receive any kind of counsel at all_.

Elsa bowed her head, chastised. "I'll keep that in mind," she murmured.

He noticed her sudden reticence. "Your Majesty?"

She shook off the gloom that had settled over her shoulders for his benefit; she didn't realise that, at the same time, she was also shaking off a dusting of snowflakes from her dress.

"Thank you, Leif," she said, setting her posture straight again.

His brow rose. "For what, Your Majesty?"

A rigid smile planted itself on her features.

"For your honesty."


	14. Chapter 13: The Fête

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Longer chapter this time, hope you guys like it. Thanks again for your support! And don't forget to check out the awesome fanart that's been done for this fic on my tumblr, calenheniel.tumblr.com/frozen. Lastly, this was released a little late so it coincides with the 1st day of Helsa Week on Tumblr, the theme of which is "Falling for you." (I may have taken it a little tongue-in-cheek, though, considering the content of the chapter.)

# Chapter 13: The Fête

Jugglers, fire-breathers, sword-swallowers, magicians . . . he'd seen it all before.

In fact, Hans had witnessed far more impressive feats of strength, comedy, and trickery during the years of his naval training, travelling abroad to countries in the south and east—feats that would put anything the King and Queen could put on in the Southern Isles to shame.

Considering, however, that he'd been stuck in that  _horrible_ little room all day, the guards being too numerous for him to manoeuvre around without being spotted, he relished what little time he was given outside of it, and outside of the palace itself.

He certainly hadn't expected to be let out, anyway.

_But she'll be wanting it back, I suspect._

He smirked at the thought even as the guards nearby shot him dirty looks for the inexplicably self-satisfied expression, and he wondered at how much they probably  _despised_ having to look after him when so many tempting smells wafted over from the hot food stalls along the main road.

He was safely tucked away again, just as before, near the rear of the festivities—at the very outskirts of the road where only the drunks stumbled along, or those too old and sick to join the events hobbled by—but he still had a fair view of the proceedings from his position, hidden as it was. It was probably the Queen's doing, he guessed, though he wouldn't have been surprised if it had been Elsa's suggestion, either.

_Elsa—so_ informal  _of you, Hans._

He chuckled to himself even as the crowd let out a huge cheer, and he supposed that it was for their Queen's arrival, since it rolled on for a few more beats than it would have for the magicians' parlour tricks.

_And the Snow Queen must be with her._

She would have figured out by then, he assumed, that her letter was gone. After all the days and months he'd spent going over everything that had happened in Arendelle, he'd come to realise that she, if nothing else, was  _observant_ —and probably, not unlike himself, quite particular about where she put things.

Admittedly, then, it was surprising how  _easily_ he had absconded with it—and how he hesitated after he'd taken it, just before leaving the room, when he'd paused to stare at the serene expression on her pale face, the snowflakes vanishing from the air. It had been a long time, after all, since he'd seen any kind of snow (much less the magical sort that could be summoned and disappeared on command), and he'd  _never_ seen her able to calmly control it like that.

 _She certainly couldn't have done that the_ last  _time I was there._

He hadn't hesitated in the same way in actually reading the letter once he'd gotten back to his room, though. There wasn't any point in pretending that he was a man of "noble" character when he could see that tanned complexion staring back at him in the mirror and feel the rough lining of the cheap gloves chafing his fingers.

Of course, upon reading it (and re-reading it until he'd memorised it, since there was little  _else_ to do all day in that room), he'd eventually grown bored of it, as he had with most everything else. The contents contained little in the way of new or interesting insights into the Snow Queen, or into her relationship with her sister, and he wasn't sure why he'd expected anything juicier than what was actually written.

Truthfully, Hans was a little irritated with himself for being so enthralled with this little game he'd created, since he could have spent his day plotting his escape from the palace (as Elsa herself had suggested), or at least coming up with some way of convincing the guardsmen to get him something to occupy himself with besides his own, dull thoughts.

But he'd been out of practice for so  _long,_ he thought with a frown, that he'd gotten distracted by something as petty as the temptation of thieving a letter from Elsa (even if being able to take it from right under her nose did give him the  _slightest_ sense of pride).

He blamed the Queen for that—for plucking him so suddenly out of exile, for dumping him in that room, for putting him in that  _charming_ little servant's outfit—because even though he'd once been so skilful at making use of chaos, his life on Vollan had conditioned him to routine.

(And  _routine_ , he had learned, was never easily broken.)

He knew that it would take time to readjust to his new circumstances, but he also knew that he didn't  _have_  time—and that set his heartbeat faster than before with the foreign sensation of  **worry**.

 _But there's no need to dwell on it now. Not_ yet,  _anyway._

He set his mind at ease again by focusing on the tedious interactions between the visiting queen and the commoners that he could observe from his perch on the side: the light touching of her gloved hands, the reverent bows, the wide, affected smiles of some (and the unseemly,  _genuine_ ones of others), and the awe apparent on their simple faces at witnessing the legend come to life.

He snorted at the idea— _some_ legend,  _she's little more than a girl with a_ **curse** —but he found himself unable to turn away from her, intrigued, again, by the way she held herself around them, and how those delicate, gloved fingers told a story that her eyes could not.

She didn't seem as uncomfortable around the commoners as she had the courtiers, he noticed; that was understandable enough, since most of them probably didn't know much about the gossip inside the palace. Even if they knew about his return (which he doubted they did, yet), they probably didn't care as much as the lords and ladies whose very  _existences_ were sustained through the misery of others.

She was dressed more simply that evening as well—just a long, dark green dress with an even darker cape covering her shoulders and arms—and she wore her hair down in a looser braid, reminding him of the way it had looked before it had fallen apart around her shoulders, the snow whipping around her.

_I don't have anything else to say to you._

The memory of that cold voice of hers sent his lips into a lopsided grin.

 _I_ still  _don't believe you, Elsa._

Nonetheless, it was admittedly rather  _dull_ to watch her mingling after a while, and he yawned openly, ignoring the scowl one of his guards wore at the sound.

 _I'm sure they'll be whining to Fredrik about me after this,_ he mused, but his eyes alit with renewed vigour when he spied his brothers begin to approach Elsa, one by one—all trying their hand, no doubt, at stirring the Snow Queen's interest.

To his surprise, Johannes was first, though Hans suspected that that was only because Adrian was with the King and Queen at that exact moment. It wasn't long, however, before he was failing in  _spectacular_ fashion at earning anything more than the faintest of tolerant smiles from Elsa. Even after so many years of being told that he was shockingly dull-witted, nowhere near as charismatic as any number of his older siblings, and, worst of all,  _boring,_ it seemed that the twelfth prince had never caught on . . . and Hans felt the smallest tinge of pity for Elsa then, since she couldn't simply dismiss him like everyone else.

That job was instead left to the Queen, who dutifully stepped in, replacing Johannes with the next contestants— _the Ornaments,_ Hans noted with a sigh, shaking his head—but they did no better than the first.

In spite of the collection of fine young ladies that trailed after them, the twins, as always, were oblivious to the attention. They had never known the first thing about wooing women (and Hans had always had the inkling that they weren't  _interested_  in the first place), preferring to discuss between themselves the finer points of the history of Gregorian chants and medieval church architecture than in actually attempting to engage their guest in any sort of conversation.

It didn't help that they, like Johannes, couldn't take a hint—even when it was so pressingly obvious that Elsa didn't want to be there. From the flick of her wrist at her side to the slight craning of her neck away from them as they spoke, she seemed coiled with the same sort of tension that he'd seen high in her shoulders the night before. He wondered, absently, if she had some idea of what the purpose of these forced discussions actually was.

_If she_   _doesn't_ , he thought darkly, watching the Ornaments prattle on as she plastered on a pleasant smile,  _then she isn't prepared_  _for what's coming._

He knew the Southern Queen—her tics, her plots, her throwaway smiles—and that was enough to tell him that she hadn't invited Elsa to the Isles just to "make peace," and that she hadn't acquiesced so easily to the Snow Queen's wishes and brought the traitor ex-prince back to court out of the  _kindness_  of her heart.

_Not that she has one._

**"Hans."**

He blinked at the voice—familiar, deep,  _slightly_ disapproving, as always—and then turned to his side, his expression sliding neutral.

"Anders," he returned civilly, his eyes calm.

The third prince approached him with a frown as he eyed the guards at his sides, and he waited until they were a few paces away before the discontent slipped from his lips, his face matching his youngest brother's.

"You're being kept apart from everyone else again, I see," the older man commented, his dark green eyes casually scanning the area. "But that's probably for the best."

Hans shrugged, his eyebrow rising. "Come now, brother. You didn't think she'd let me go and buy myself a fresh pastry, did you? Say 'hello' to the citizens?  _Dance_  with the children?"

Anders stared at him, his moustache quirking. "Is that  _really_ what you'd rather be doing?"

Hans coughed lightly to keep from laughing. "Admittedly, no," he said, and their gazes broke as they turned back to the events in the square. He glanced curiously at Anders after a pause. "Won't Mona be looking for you?"

Anders drew out his pocket watch (the same, finicky habit he shared with his twin, Hans remembered) and held back a small sigh. "In a few minutes, perhaps," he replied vaguely, crossing his arms. "She's with Lene at the magician's stall—and anyway, she knows I'm here."

_Of_ course  _she does,_ Hans thought, simpering; at Anders's dark look, his lips twitched, and he feigned innocence. "So what brings you here?" he asked, making sure to keep a respectful distance from his brother. "None of the others have come, anyway . . . well, besides  _Tor,_ that is," he added disdainfully, his lip curling at the memory of the evening previous. "Though I could've done without  _him_ speaking to me."

Anders's lip tilted slightly up at the remark. "Well, it has been a  _year_ since we last spoke," he began, and ignored Hans as he rolled his eyes, "and, believe it or not, I wanted to see how you were, now that you're here."

 _Now that you're_ here.

Coming from another brother—someone like Ivar or Mathias, the other two of his  _dear_ siblings that had ignored him for two years—Hans might have found the comment disingenuous at best, and at worst, purposefully insulting.

Anders, however, was different . . . different from how he'd been when they were children, even if Hans was reluctant to admit as much. Though still maintaining his cool exterior, he'd been less distant than the others in recent years—and more willing, from time to time, to speak with Hans as a fellow man, and not as the baby of the family.

_Not like Mother._

He respected him for that, if nothing else; and though the tiniest seed of guilt started to sprout in his chest at the things he'd done and the punishment he'd received for them while in Anders's presence, he mercilessly quashed it.

"Well, how  _kind_ of you, Anders," he said finally, adopting his usual manners (or lack thereof) as the older prince frowned. "But there's no need for that. As you can see," he gestured to his simple outfit of a white shirt and green waistcoat overtop brown trousers with his gloved hands, "I've been  _well taken care of_ already."

Anders bristled at the reply, though his silent look of judgment was enough to make Hans's stomach curdle. "You won't be if you continue in  _that_  manner," he chided, sighing again. "Do  _try_ to be amiable, if only for your own sake," he told Hans, who merely crossed his arms at the suggestion. "After all, Queen Elsa spared you once from the wretchedness of a prison cell; perhaps, if you play your cards right," he advised, his brow rising, "she'll do it again—and this time, it'll be from  **exile**."

Hans scoffed. "That's  _very_ optimistic of you, brother," he retorted sceptically, "but even if she were so  _kind_ as to do that, do you really think that Mother would let her?"

Anders chuckled lightly. "Well, stranger things have happened, Hans—and you  _were_ always Mother's favourite, after all." He straightened his jacket absentmindedly. "Besides, do you  _really_ care what she thinks?" he inquired, sceptical. "It certainly seemed like you didn't when you sailed for Arendelle."

 _And so, what—you're just going to_ wait _for "something" to happen?_

There was something perturbingly similar in the "advice" that Anders gave him to what Tor had said the night before, but whatever validity their points held, Hans refused to acknowledge it.

"Of course I don't  _care,"_ he muttered, tugging on his gloves. "And, as you said, I didn't then, either." He frowned. "Even if I  _was_ her favourite—though that's hardly what  _I_ would call it," he went on, his tone dark, "I left the nest, and broke my pretty white wings—and no one wants a broken baby bird."

His shoulders hunched slightly. " _Especially_ not  **her**."

His older brother sighed. "Now you're just being dramatic," he remarked, and Hans huffed.

"I was just making a point," he dismissed the criticism. "Anyway, I only meant to say that now I'm just another one among her many  _disappointing_ sons—and oh, look," he continued with a slight grin, tilting his head towards the square, "there's another one, now."

Anders's eyes followed to where the thirteenth prince's gaze had settled—somewhere between the juggler and the butcher's stall—and they narrowed slightly when they found Elsa and her adviser chatting with Harald and Annette, encircled by their guardsmen and, outside of them, a curious group of children.

He quietly exhaled through his nose. "She likes him, you know," he said, watching as Hans blinked in surprise. "Probably the best out of all of us, I suspect."

Hans looked bemused, at first; then, as he stared longer at the exchange between the pair, his expression shifted back to one of neutral disinterest, and he shrugged. "He's tolerable, I suppose—so long as you're not in  _competition_ against him—"

Anders shot him a warning look, and Hans let the rest of the words fall away.

 _So they've still got that_ racket _going with Ivar, huh?_

After a minute, however, his smirk returned, and he eyed his older brother with amusement.

"If Annette's here, then . . ." he trailed off, his gaze sweeping across the crowd for the seventh prince's familiar mop of brown hair, "surely Kristian's  _skulking_  about somewhere, as usual?"

"He's here," Anders replied coolly, and nodded towards a point on the other side of the road. A rare twitch of humour touched his mouth as he added: "And he's skulking, of course."

They might have shared a laugh at that, Hans supposed, had they been closer in age, or temperament, or in affections. But, things being as they were, he had to content himself with the fact that he'd managed to bring the smallest of smiles to one of his brothers' faces, and not even at his own expense.

 _Although Kristian is too easy of a target,_ he reminded himself with a short chortle, and took some dark comfort in the sight of his older brother's miserable features as his light blue eyes stalked his sister-in-law's every giggle, sway, and blush from afar, his ponytail practically sagging against his red waistcoat. Hans doubted that, in spite of his year of hard labour, he had ever appeared  _that_ pathetic.

"I'd best be off," Anders said crisply, smoothing down the lapels of his jacket. He itched his moustache lightly, glancing at Hans. "I'll see you again soon, I'm sure."

"I'm sure," Hans returned with a small grin—enough to make Anders roll his eyes, at least—and bowed his head slightly as the third prince walked back to his wife and child, waiting for him by the statue of King Tomas III in the square.

Mona's dark blue eyes greeted her husband with the same sort of aloof affection he'd shown towards his brother, and then they were on Hans, silent and heavy and somehow beautiful all at once. In the next moment they snapped away again, and Hans released a breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding, suddenly feeling slightly entertained by the idea that she could just as effectively castigate him with her gaze alone as Anders could.

_Like husband, like wife . . . or perhaps it's the other way around?_

It didn't matter, really—not when there were more  _intriguing_ things to be wondering about.

And so his attention returned to the matter of the Queen of Arendelle, to  **Elsa** , whose letter he had stolen, and  _absorbed,_ whose hands were tightly curling and uncurling in such a fascinating way, whose lips were gracious but somehow  _tight_ in their silence as Harald prattled, whose neck craned slightly to the side, the muscles in it jumping with an unspoken tension—

And whose eyes were fixed on him.

* * *

It had been difficult for Elsa to tear her gaze away from Hans when the Queen called to her, and more difficult still when she was ushered, in quick succession, over to a crowded area in the main square where a puppetry performance was about to take place.

Rather than sitting at the front, however, as she might have expected to (and, indeed, was  _accustomed_ to back in Arendelle), Therese guided her towards the back of the seating area. The other princes were already seated, and all were wearing a variety of unamused or otherwise disinterested expressions.

(Tor, in particular, had rolled his eyes very obviously when his mother commented that their being at the back allowed for the seats at the front to be enjoyed by children from the orphanage nearby.)

Had it not been for the eleventh prince's droll look of scepticism at the information, Elsa might have thought it to be quite a generous, kind gesture on the part of the Queen. After seeing it, however, there was an inkling of doubt at the back of her mind about Therese's intentions—genuine as they seemed on the surface—especially after the tour the day before, and the strange, dry expression that the woman had worn almost immediately upon entering the carriage back to the palace.

_She is_ not  _a woman to be _ **trifled** _with._

Elsa's hands tightened around each other.

 _And nor is her_ son _a man who can be so easily understood_.

She bit her lip as the performance began, trying to enjoy the slapstick humour of the puppeteers, the simple story of the ubiquitous Mester Jackel and the many amusing scenarios in which he found himself, the laughter of the crowd, the wide grins of the Queen, Prince Harald, and the Ladies Mona and Ingrid—but the show earned little more than the tiniest of smiles from the Snow Queen's lips all the while.

_If they even caught a_ whiff _of a rumour now, your reputation would be totally destroyed here within a matter of days, if not_ hours _._

She restrained herself from scowling, just barely; it was harder, however, to stop herself from turning around.

From  _looking_ at him again.

Elsa knew he wasn't far behind them, then—only a few metres, probably—and coupled with the knowledge that he had  _her_ letter stuffed away somewhere in his miserable little room (or even, perhaps, inside of his waistcoat, since it was obvious that he wasn't beyond flashing the thing right in her  _face_  there and then), her hands were balled into tight fists for the majority of the first act, and her expression lightly twisted with agitation.

 _But I don't have to tell_ you _that, do I? After all, you're the_ Snow Queen _of Arendelle._

She swallowed a grimace at the title, gripping her dress, keeping the ice inside,  _inside._

 _And here I thought you'd be_ eager _to freely speak your mind—now that we're alone, that is._

If she'd let the ice crawl down her arm like she'd wanted to then, across her lap, freezing the fabric of her dress, she probably would have heard a  _crack_ just then, as it snapped within her grasp—but she couldn't do that.

 _Not_ here.

But staying in that seat, her eyes sharp and forward, ignoring everyone and everything around her, didn't help matters either . . . nor did it stop the cold from stirring in her veins, from filling her with  _anticipation._

_Anticipation of . . ._ what,  _exactly?_

"Is everything all right, Elsa?"

She blinked and glanced nervously at her side, finding Therese's green eyes patiently studying her.

 _And they're so much like_ his _—_

"Yes, I just—if you'll excuse me, Therese," she said quickly, looking away, "I have to step away for a moment. I won't be gone long."

Therese nodded briefly, watching as Elsa rose quietly from her seat during a particularly loud cheer from the crowd; though she whispered back a sweet "of course" to her fellow queen in understanding, suspicion fluttered out through her lowered lashes.

Not that Elsa paid it any mind, because her hands were already pressed neatly in front of her again, and her feet were moving, one in front of the other, away from the din of the square.

Another pair, as always, followed closely behind.

She quietly turned on her heel. "Martin."

The young guardsman shot back a step in surprise, and swallowed. "Your Majesty?"

A small smile graced her lips. "There's no need to accompany me," she reassured him, though her voice felt thin. "I'll return soon."

He stared at her uncertainly. "Queen Elsa, are you sure—"

" _Positive,_ Martin," she interrupted, her smile creasing impatiently at the edges. "And besides, there are guards posted  _everywhere_ tonight, on account of the fete—so I'll be fine."

He bowed his head at her look, seeing how set it was on her current course of action, and she was glad that it was  _him,_ and not Finn or Erik, that had followed her that far.

"As you wish, Your Majesty," he replied, and stepped back. When he was out of sight again, she proceeded, just as before, and her lips slipped down.

 _You didn't seem like you were finished, earlier; I can imagine, after a _year _, that you would have more to say to me than just_ **that** _._

She saw him from a few paces away ( _disguised as a townsperson today, _she noted absently, her eyes flicking over the loose shirt and trousers), and her nose wrinkled with a deep frown.

 _Of_ course  _I have more to say._

And then she was there, standing in front of him.

 _And I'm sure_ you  _have more to say, too._

And his eyes were fixed on her.

She didn't look at the guards at his sides. "Would you allow us a moment, gentlemen?"

A reluctant pause followed this command—followed by a sharp glance from the visiting queen—and the two guards finally retreated to the sides as requested.

Blue eyes flit back up, meeting green . . . and then stopped.

**"I want the letter."**

He blinked, and cocked his head to the side. "The  _letter,_ Your Grace?"

"Yes.  _My_ letter," she clarified bluntly. "Give it to me now, and  _perhaps_ I'll allow you to remain at court."

His arms crossed. "I'm not sure what you mean, Your Majesty," he replied far too easily. "I don't have any letter of  _yours,_ I'm afraid."

Her gaze darkened, and then, there it was—the  _frost_ —spreading under her feet, curling under his.

He sent her a look of caution, a light  _tut_ on his lips. "Now, Queen Elsa, are you  _really_  going to cause such a scene when everyone's having such a good time?" He glanced past her at the crowd watching the puppet show, their laughter carrying over, ringing like so many cattle bells in her ears. "You remember what happened the  _last_ time you lost control . . . don't you?"

His breath came out in puffs of mist, for a minute; then, the clouds disappeared, and his exhales were invisible again—but she was still scowling at him, watching him,  _expectant._

Finally, he relented. "I don't have it with me," he told her simply, ignoring the black glint in her eye at the information, "so I'll have to give it to you— _later."_

Her throat hitched at that word— _later—_ because she knew what that meant, and when he smirked at her, the only thing that stopped her from shackling his  _miserably_ smug countenance to the ground in a ream of ice was the sound of applause breaking out from behind her.

Blue glinted like steel under sunlight.

"This isn't over,  _Hans,"_ she hissed, her fingers crackling,  _waiting._

Green sparked like embers in a hearth.

"See you tonight, Your Majesty," he replied, his mouth pleased,  _anticipating._

* * *

_I want the letter._

Her pale face, flush with anger, played on his mind as he tucked the paper beneath his vest, patting it against his chest once it was securely in place.

He could still see her glaring back at him so fiercely, the glint in her eye, the tight lines in her gloved hands and pretty mouth. It occurred to him that although the Snow Queen resembled her younger sister almost exactly in her happiness, her  _anger_ was quite a different animal altogether.

He remembered well the ire of the princess as it crossed her expression, briefly, prior to his fall overboard the ship on the fjord: it had been fiery and feisty, and had taken him entirely by surprise (though he supposed, in retrospect, that it really shouldn't have).

Elsa's, on the other hand . . . hers was  _harsh,_ and somehow distant.

He looked down, half-expecting to see the tendrils of ice spreading under his feet again—but there was nothing, save for the emptiness of his little room, and the yawning of the guards outside.

_They'll be out for the night, soon._

He'd been brought back earlier from the fête on the Queen's demands, after catching wind of Elsa's displeasure following their encounter. He didn't mind his evening being cut short, however, since that gave him the time he needed to reach his old room—no,  _her_ room, he corrected, rolling his eyes—before she arrived back in it.

Not that it mattered whether she was there or not; he doubted she'd be able to figure out how he managed to get in and out of the room, anyway.

 _And nor would those fools sitting outside,_ he thought, snorting to himself as he crossed the cold floor to the other side of the room, crouching down.

His bare hand smoothed over the floor as quiet as a whisper, and found its point. There, he pulled, and once he heard the slight sound of scraping wood, he paused.

And then he smiled.

* * *

Hans waited over an hour for her return in the room, poring over everything that had been modified or removed completely, trying to recall what it looked like before; in the end, he'd given up on the exercise, knowing it to be a futile one.

_Do_ try _to be amiable, if only for your own sake._

He vaguely remembered Anders's advice as he absently flipped through the various books Elsa had brought with her, though he hardly wanted to figure out some means by which to employ it then. It was far more amusing, for the time being, to take note of her bookmarks, dog-eared pages, and notes scribbled in the margins of the tomes on the shelves.

(He observed with a particularly wide smirk the barely-creased corner midway through the second volume of  _A Brief History of the Southern Isles and Their Ruling Families,_ a series he'd been forced to memorise as a child by Magnus—and though the Crown Prince had been younger then, he'd been stricter and far more unforgiving than any tutors Hans had had since.)

Of course, he hadn't been totally careless; when he heard noises beyond the door, he quickly slunk back to his standard hiding spot beyond the dresser, by the far wall, and stood silent as the stone surrounding him.

He'd expected to stand there for at least thirty minutes more, if not longer, while her handmaidens fussed and bustled about with her clothes and hair and makeup—but there had been none of that. In fact, save for her initial entrance and a hushed exchange, the room was very nearly as deathly silent as him.

He smiled slightly.

_You're waiting for me—aren't you, Elsa?_

He might have expected her to have done that—call off her handmaidens and sit there,  _coiled,_ clenching her fists—but he was still tickled by the idea that she would try to figure out where he was coming from by ridding herself of all other distractions.

_She probably won't even notice the rearranged books until tomorrow._

She was standing all the way on the other side of the room near the window when he emerged from his place, and he couldn't help but allow a leer to crawl onto his lips.

_"Dear Anna, I don't know when you'll receive this letter, but I hope it's not long after I've written it,"_ he began his recitation, watching with dark satisfaction as she whipped around, her eyes cloudy,  _"I wrote others before it—telling you how I'm faring at court, about the weather on the seas, what events they've held in my honour—but I threw them all away, because those things . . . they're not as important as what I really have to tell you."_

He walked towards her with deliberate lassitude, regarding her increasingly frightful scowl with nothing but contempt.  _"I was unhappy, Anna, with the way they were speaking to me; with the way they treated me, as if I were this little, delicate flower who would be hurt by just hearing_ his _name aloud_ —"

"Are you  _quite_  finished?" she snapped when he was only a few feet away from her, blue eyes molten with anger.

He simpered, withdrawing the letter from his waistcoast, and did a little, mocking bow.  _"Quite,"_  he jeered as she tried to snatch the paper from his grasp, though he pulled it away again. "I'm touched, really, by how much you've been  _thinking_ about me, Your Majesty—"

He could've guessed what her next move would be, if he hadn't been so caught up in making a little show of his excellent memory—but he still sighed when he found his hands shackled with ice to the bedpost once more, the letter safely out of his reach as she quickly looked over it, folded it, and then stowed it away into a pocket of her dress.

He glanced at the bindings wearily. "And here I thought you wanted me to  _leave."_

She glowered, snow drifting over her shoulders. "Why did you steal it, Hans?"

He shrugged. "It was just a bit of fun, Your Majesty," he replied simply, enjoying the ire that flashed across her azure gaze. "And besides, I wanted to see what you look like when you're not wearing your  _mask."_

His eyes flitted to her bare hands as they curled into fists, and then the snow flew in his face, temporarily blinding him until she crossed her arms.

"I have  _no_ idea what you're talking about," she spat.

He stared at her disbelievingly, and he must have been staring long enough for her pale exterior to crumble, since she reddened. Irritated, she added: "That's an  _incredibly_ stupid reason."

Hans chuckled at that—finally, a  _sliver_ of honesty!—and mused that he'd heard more of  _Anna_ in that reply than Elsa. "Perhaps," he allowed with a small grin, "but it worked all the same, didn't it?"

She didn't answer that, but her eyes narrowed nevertheless. "How did you get in here,  _again?"_ she snapped, her foot tapping restlessly against the floor.

He calmly glanced at the impatient gesture before meeting her eyes. "I told you," he said, "I know my—"

" _Yes, '_ you know your way around,' so you said," she echoed him in exasperation, snowflakes clinging to her tightly-braided hair. "I meant specifically— _how?_ Where's the secret passage?"

His lip quirked. "I'd show you," he began lazily, "but then you'd have it boarded up, and that would make it harder for me to get in again—"

"That's the  **point** ," she seethed, her white teeth cutting him a vicious scowl.

"—and besides," he continued unabated, jangling the shackles on his wrists, "I can't show you from  _here."_

Her lips pressed together. "Just describe it to me."

He scoffed. "You'd never find it  _that_ way."

The light creases around her eyes tightened as she glared. "There's no  _way_ I'm letting you walk around here freely."

"You did earlier," he reminded her, smiling; his smile only widened when her face flushed in embarrassment.

"That's because I didn't know you were  _here."_

"And even if you  _did_ know," he said, his brow rising, "do I  _really_ pose that much of a threat to you, Your Majesty?" His gaze was sceptical. "Yesterday, when I snuck in, I didn't try to hurt you—nor did I do anything when you thawed my chains," he pointed out, glancing down at his restraints.

"You  _stole_ my letter!" she exclaimed incredulously, and a drift passed by him, making him shudder.

"That's hardly the same thing as trying to  _kill_ you," he noted, his voice sharper than before.

 _"That's—"_  she paused, frowning. "That doesn't mean you aren't  _planning_ to kill me, even now."

He sighed. "And why would I be, exactly? What  _purpose_  would that serve?"

Her nose scrunched. "I don't know, _Hans_ — _you're_  the power-hungry prince, not me."

" _Was_ the power-hungry prince," he corrected with a harder edge than she must have expected, observing the surprise that flitted across her expression. "Now nothing more than a day labourer, exiled to a penal colony."

She rolled her eyes, and the action inexplicably irritated him. "Still being in the Southern Isles is hardly 'exile,'" she retorted.

He frowned. "Where  _I_ was sent? There's not much of a difference."

The memory of the stale air on Vollan was still too fresh in his mind— _all_ of it was, really—but he pushed it back.

 _I won't let that_ define  _me._

"Anyway, there's no point in killing you—I have no kingdom to rule, nor any crown to steal. Not unless I was planning on pawning it off, that is," he added at the end, but there was only steel in her voice when she answered.

"Is that supposed to be funny?" she snapped.

"Not really," he shrugged. "All I'm saying is this: let's say I killed you,  _somehow,_ without you spearing me through the heart with a bolt of ice first—"

"I  _wouldn't,"_ she protested suddenly, and the falling snow froze in mid-air.

(Dully, somewhere in his chest, his heart  _thumped_ at the sight.)

She swallowed, and amended: "I  _couldn't_ do something like that. I—I'm not a  **monster**."

She looked, in that moment, just the way she did on the North Mountain, all those months ago—the way she looked when he told her  _don't be the monster they fear you are,_ and she turned to him, her face twisted in pain, horror, regret—and that strange sensation of  _guilt_ stung at his chest again.

He brushed it off, just as he had with Anders; nonetheless, he spoke more softly than before, and in a more serious way, as he continued.

"Well, forget the icy spear part," he remarked, ignoring the slight touch of relief he felt when he saw her glaring at him again. "As I was saying: if I  _somehow_ managed to kill you, what then? I already told you how pointless it would be to try and escape from Strande, and if you were found dead in your room . . . guess who'd be prime suspect?"

As her brow relaxed a little, he went on. "They wouldn't even bother with the dungeons, no—those would be too good for the likes of a regicide. I'd just be hung from the neck until it snapped, or until my legs stopped  _twitching."_

She grimaced at the image in silence for a while, though she frowned when she finally responded.

"So . . . what? I'm supposed to just  _trust_ that you won't do anything to hurt me, if I remove those?" she asked warily, staring at her creation.

He shifted, leaning against the bedpost. "Well,  _trust_ might be overstating it—how about 'cautiously optimistic'?"

She snorted unfemininely at the suggestion, though she took her time to process what he'd said. He watched her interestedly as a more determined took hold of her features—determined, but also entirely unlike anything he'd seen her wear before, tinged as it was with a soft bitterness.

"Don't you . . .  _regret_ it?"

His brows drew together at the question, masking his surprise.

Before he could answer, however, she added with a frown: "And I mean 'regret' as in  _real_ regret, Hans—not that you're just sorry that your plan failed."

He chewed over the idea, silent.

_Don't you regret it?_

He'd thought about it many times, over the past year: about  _that question,_ about how she might look when she asked it, about how she might look when he answered it.

But he'd never been able to come up with an explanation for how he felt.

 _Not one that she'd_   _accept, anyway._

He closed his eyes briefly, feeling a chill pass through him.

 _Nor one that_ I  _can accept._

And then, it was gone—the weight on his wrists, the thick, heavy,  _cold_ —and he looked up, unable to hold back the shock from his lips.

She stared back at him with patience—practiced, but  _unhappy_ patience—and her arms hung at her sides. "Well, you have two weeks to think of an answer to that," she broke the silence, her mouth pursed. "So don't waste your time playing  _tricks_ on me until you do."

Her eyes were startlingly clear, then—clear enough that, for the first time since they'd been reunited, he could see himself plainly reflected on their surface.

 _And what a_ disappointing  _image you cut, Hans._

He swallowed thickly, looking away. "I suppose you'll be wanting a  _public_ apology," he remarked, though his voice had none of the bite from earlier.

Her fingers curled around the fabric of her dress. "That's not necessary," she said quietly, "if you  _mean_ it."

He blinked at that, unsure of what she meant. "And . . . how would I deliver such an apology to you, if not in public?" he asked as he took a few steps away from the bed at last, towards her.

Her gaze snapped up to meet his in an instant. "I'll let you figure that out."

He would've rolled his eyes then, had hers not been analysing his every move; given her stare, however, he merely put on a cool façade, regarding her warily.

"You'll be wanting me to leave again, I suspect?" he mused.

She stepped out of his way. "By the same way you came in," she replied, looking over her shoulder before settling her blue eyes back on him. "And I'll be  _watching_ you, this time."

He smiled a little. "Naturally."

He could feel her eyes on him as he brushed past her, taking his time, his boots barely making a sound as they treaded across carpeted wood.

 _She really is a determined young lady, that _Snow Queen _of Arendelle._

He smirked to himself.

_That she is, Mother._

When he reached the far corner of the room from whence he'd emerged, he turned a little, finding Elsa only a few paces away . . . but she didn't look  _angry_ like he'd expected her to be.

Instead, the white-haired queen just appeared somewhat  _intrigued_ with his movements, watching him curiously, as if he might disappear from her sight in an instant again—and he realised, suppressing a grin, that she must have been  _furious_ with herself earlier when she'd been unable to figure out how he'd gotten in and out of the room.

 _She doesn't enjoy being_ outmanoeuvred,  _it seems._

He finally came to a halt, standing by the far wall, shadowed by the slight incline of the roof over that area; she stopped a few feet away, her stare cautious.

He glanced over to his right, and her gaze followed his to a tall, full-length mirror there. "There's your 'secret passage,' Your Grace," he told her, his voice teasing. "Not so well-hidden, I'm afraid."

She frowned almost immediately. "That's impossible," she dismissed, crossing her arms. "I checked behind that mirror at least three times this morning—"

He held back a chuckle as she blushed in embarrassment. "Behind, yes, but . . . did you check  _below?"_  he inquired, crouching down by the mirror and touching the wood beneath it.

The bright colour in her cheeks faded. "But . . . moving wood, that's—it would be too  _noisy,"_ she protested, and he  _tutted  _her again, making her glare.

"The palace holds many secrets," he said vaguely, smiling, "and now you know one of them: the silent floorboard." He lifted one loose board to illustrate his point, revealing a dark hole beneath it, and he looked up, observing her shocked features. "Seems that Mother only made some slight  _cosmetic_ adjustments to this room in my absence, to not find this," he remarked, examining the floor around the hole with a sigh. "Somehow, that doesn't surprise me in the least."

Her stock-still frame, staring down at the ground, encouraged him to continue. "So—now that you know," he said slowly, "do what you will with the information, but . . . it would really be such a  _shame,_ I think, to close off the passageway." His smile curled in a way that made the queen frown. "Especially if you want me to apologise to you in  _private."_

She cut him a disbelieving look. "I don't think it's necessary for you to  _sneak_ into this room just to deliver an apology," she said, the air around them suddenly biting. "You could just as easily speak with me in some other room of the palace, at a  _decent_ hour, when—"

"I don't think you really  _understand_ the exact position you're in, do you, Queen Elsa?" Hans cut her off, eyeing her sceptically. "That outside of this room, there is  _no place_ in this palace that escapes the eyes and ears of the Queen?"

 _And sometimes, not even this_   _room,_ he added internally, a brief grimace touching his eyes.

She paused, a flash of anxiousness passing across her face; then, she raised her chin, obviously not wanting to trust his word.

"I am a  _guest_ of the King and Queen of the Southern Isles," she began firmly, "and thus, I will be afforded whatever privacy I require _—_ "

"No—only whatever privacy they will  _allow_ you to have," he interrupted again, and she scowled. "And you  _know_ that." He stared at her pointedly. "That's why you brought so many of your own guardsmen, isn't it? Because you don't trust anyone here—and you  **shouldn't**."

"Including  _you,"_ she bit back.

He held her look of contempt, a smirk playing on his lips.

"Yes—including  _me."_

That reply hung on the air, cold,  _honest,_ for a few beats; eventually, Elsa averted her gaze.

"Just get out," she said finally, her gaze fixed to the lifted board below. "Just  _leave."_

He didn't smile, nor did he offer anything in the way of a goodbye.

_The only frozen heart around here is yours._

The last thing he saw as he slipped beneath the floor was her lips, tinged pink, bitten by a row of white teeth—and the image was enough to send his mind racing.

 _No, Princess . . . I don't think mine is the_ only _one._


	15. Chapter 14: The Apology

# Chapter 14: The Apology

"Your—Your Highness?"

Anna's cheek rolled slightly against her palm, her lips parted in repose.

"Princess Anna?"

She mumbled something unintelligible under her breath, her eyes fluttering open and shut.

**"Princess."**

They opened again, though they remained half-lidded; she was only awake enough to wipe the small trail of drool from her mouth. "Did we receive any letters from Elsa this morning?" she asked sleepily, trying—and failing—to cover her yawn.

Kai pinked in embarrassment. "It's only been four days, Your Highness," he reminded her. "Too soon for letters, I'm afraid."

Anna's nose twitched at the information, processing it slowly. "Don't they have carrier pigeons, or something? Mm . . . maybe they don't have pigeons, 'cause they're an island . . ." she trailed off, massaging her face with her hand as she drifted in and out of drowsiness. "Or, maybe . . . carrier whales? But those would take a while . . ."

Somewhere, in the midst of her mutterings, her gaze finally focused again, taking in her surroundings; when she realised where she was, her eyes grew as large as saucers.

"Oh, um— _hi,"_ she greeted the mixture of curious and disapproving looks shot at her by the Council members, and she tried not to swallow too audibly as she dabbed away any remaining traces of drool from her lips. "So, uh . . . where were we?"

Kai sent her a gently chiding look. "The state of our ice exports to Madris."

She nodded, attempting a serious expression. "Ice exports. Madris. Right."

The older man seemed to hold back a sigh as he continued the conversation from whence it had left off, and as the eyes of the Council turned away from her again, she slumped lightly in her chair at the head of the table, casting a longing glance towards the sun outside of the tall windows.

 _It's only been four days,_ Kai had said, as if that were supposed to be a  _comforting_ thing—but four days had already been too many for the Princess Regent, now unused to the absence of her sister for longer than a few hours. They'd spent too many years apart and too little together to make up for the current separation, brief as it may have seemed to everyone else.

It didn't help that she'd been kept busy,  _way_ too busy, Anna thought, with Elsa gone only four days so far. Now  _she_ was the one seeing petitioners, reading minor trade agreements (nothing too serious compared to what Elsa had to read, she supposed, but still far too dense for her tastes), and attending Council meetings.

Needless to say, the tedium of the routine was getting to her.

Taking on those responsibilities, she marvelled all the more at her sister's graces and patience . . . and was, perhaps,  _slightly_  envious that she hadn't inherited any of them.

She was thankful, at least, that Kai had given her  _some_ free time away from it all (more than he'd allowed her in the weeks leading up to Elsa's departure, anyway). Given the opportunity, she'd immediately run to Kristoff when he returned from the mountains, tackling him and complaining to him about the sundry tasks of court life while he reminded her of how she  _was_ a princess, after all. When he wasn't there, she'd taken to poking fun at the various Councillors with Olaf, who had grown quite good at impersonating some of them.

It all felt  _strange,_ though, without Elsa there, and stranger still not to at least see her familiar, icy seal pressed against paper with her beautiful handwriting scrawled inside of it.

But it really only  _had_ been four days, just as Kai had said, so she resigned herself to the knowledge that something would show up,  _eventually._

And soon after that, Elsa would be home.

* * *

"Is it . . . is it true that you constructed an entire palace made of ice, Your Majesty?" Emil asked timidly, looking down. "Forgive me for being so forward, I simply—"

"It's true," Elsa answered the prince at her side, smiling. She glanced up at the roof of the palace chapel above them, briefly; then, she frowned slightly. "Though I haven't been there, since . . ."

She trailed off as she thought of the structure, and the joy she felt in making it made the smile return to her face. "I wonder if it's still there."

The twin princes relaxed on either side of her simultaneously, observing that calmer expression, and Henrik gestured to the simple, stone altar at the front of the chapel. "I suppose you didn't build it for a . . .  _religious_ purpose, though?" he ventured, and she held back a grin, shaking her head.

"No, not really," she said, "and, if I'm being honest . . . it was more an exercise in self-indulgence than anything else." She reddened a little. "It was quite gaudy, compared to this."

"Even this chapel is a bit . . .  _ornate_ for our tastes," Emil remarked, sighing as he touched the intricate woodwork and leaf patterns carved into the end of one of the pews. "But it's been around for hundreds of years, so it would be impossible to request any kind of modifications."

"Mothe—The  _Queen_ would never allow for that," Henrik added, correcting himself with a cough. "She's quite insistent on preserving it for its . . .  _historic_ value."

 _Outside of this room, there is_ no _place in this palace that escapes the eyes and ears of the Queen._

She didn't know why she was remembering that then, when she was actually enjoying herself, for  _once,_  on that private tour of the chapel. The memory of Hans's wary,  _knowing_ look, however, was enough to turn her stomach.

Elsa swallowed uncomfortably. "Well, it  _is_ very beautiful," she said finally.

The brothers continued on in their lecture about the history of the building, the religious wars that were once fought, long ago, between the Southern Isles and Odens, the hidden stories behind certain features unique to that chapel—but, as usual, her mind was already somewhere else.

 _You don't trust anyone here—and you_ shouldn't.

She'd hoped, despite another near-sleepless night, that the promise of a morning tour of the chapel with two of the seemingly "nicer" princes would distract her (or at least convince her otherwise about the mysterious, "bad" intentions of their family). After all, it had been King Oskar himself who had suggested the short trip to the chapel after noticing how she'd looked admiringly upon the marble work inside the palace; surely, she'd thought, that must have been evidence of the fact that not  _all_ of their underlying motivations came from some evil place.

In fact, she'd even  _enjoyed_ the lecture, much to her own surprise, until then. (And considering that the twins had been appallingly boring on the two other occasions during which she'd spoken with them, that had been a delight in and of itself.) Knowing she only had Council meetings and negotiations to look forward to for the rest of the afternoon, that early hour of ambling about the chapel was probably going to be the sole, bright spot of her day.

 _And he ruined_ this,  _too._

The silence he had initially offered her in response to her question— _don't you regret it?—_ rang shrilly in her head as she nodded at whatever one of the twins (Henrik, she guessed, recognising the dusting of freckles across his cheeks where Emil had none) was saying, hoping that they wouldn't catch on to her sudden turn of mood.

_And . . . how would I deliver such an apology to you, if not in public?_

Her face heated, and she bit down on her cheek.

_I shouldn't have given him that option._

She'd regretted saying it nearly as soon as the words had left her lips, though she supposed, in retrospect, that she'd said as much based on the same suspicions which he proceeded to confirm with that unnervingly warning tone.

 _I don't think you really_ understand _the exact position you're in, do you, Queen Elsa?_

She knew he was right, in that cynical, dismal part of her that she'd never been able to completely let go of in spite of all the hours spent under Anna's indomitable ray of sunshine. She'd heard enough rumours, and seen enough questionable behaviour, to  _understand,_ as it were, that she was being kept under close watch.

What she  _didn't_ understand, then, was how her room—well,  _his_ room—was any different, nor how the Queen, in her "infinite" knowledge, had not yet found out the passage by which her disgraced son had been skulking about the palace unseen.

 _Do what you will with the information, but . . . it would really be such a_ shame,  _I think, to close off the passageway._

 _He's probably lying,_ she mused with a frown,  _just so he can get into the room._

If that were the case, however . . . why did he  _insist_  on returning there in the first place?

She didn't want to consider the idea that he had been telling the truth about the room, and the Queen's ignorance, if only because it was so out of step with everything else he had told her (and everything else she had seen for herself).

And so, with that option removed, only one remained.

_He's trying to intimidate me._

It seemed logical enough, she thought. He only had two weeks there, and with no chance of redemption—nor for forgiveness, if she was just going by his behaviour towards her thus far—Hans had probably figured that he might as well make the "best" of his time back in court by being as irritating as humanly possible.

(That much had been apparent when she found her books on her shelves rearranged in a strange order that morning; looking inside, she silently fumed at the sight of his scribbles correcting her notes on the coronation of King Tomas VI.)

 _Well, Hans,_   _if that's your aim, then I'll make_ sure  _you don't succeed._

It was resolved, then: she would simply inform the Queen that there was a loose floorboard in the room, have it mended, and never have to see his face in there again.

_Once the Queen has you in her grasp—_

Her fingers curled together tightly as his words ran unbidden across her thoughts, and she might've cursed aloud had the current setting not restrained her tongue. There was no one to trust except herself and her own instincts in this matter; however, considering how poorly the latter had served her in recent days, she felt wretched at her lack of options.

 _And none of them are_ simple.

"Queen Elsa," a voice interrupted her thoughts from behind her, and she turned to greet Fredrik's stern face at the door to the chapel, "the King and Queen are requesting your presence in the Council room."

She sucked in a breath. "Ah, of course," she answered politely, and nodded to the twins in farewell.

"We'll see you at dinner, Your Majesty," Henrik said as he rose from his bow.

Emil smiled. "It was truly a pleasure to have you with us this morning," he added.

They were different enough from their younger brother to allow her to appreciate how kind and handsome they looked then, regarding her warmly. Nonetheless, as soon as she turned back to Fredrik—his brow furrowed, his lips set in a straight, no-nonsense line—she had to hold back a sigh.

"Until then," she said quietly, joining the Captain of the Guard. Unsurprisingly, when she glanced a little beyond him, his younger, more charismatic brother was there as well, eyeing her interestedly.

He moved to stand by her as they proceeded to the Council room. "I hope the twins weren't too dull, Your Grace?" he inquired with a little, knowing grin—one that reminded her  _far_ too much of another that she would've liked to forget.

Her hands tightened.

 _This is going to be a_ long  _walk._

* * *

She was trained for this.

A whole life of wise lessons behind closed doors given by her father, frequent but more casual advice offered by Leif and Gerda, the patient counsel of her mother, when Elsa had allowed it—and yet, it never seemed to get any easier.

She thought it might have, after all she had been through over the past year: compensating visiting dignitaries and their home countries for losses incurred during the Great Freeze (ships, various equipment, trade goods, and weapons); hosting said dignitaries, their accompanying family members, and their attendants while their ships were mended and/or others arrived to collect them from Arendelle; explaining her and Anna's long isolation inside the castle to the Council and to her people; trying to keep her powers in check while learning how to be a queen in  _practice,_ not just in theory; and, most aggravating of all, batting away the advances of several suitors, including the particularly persistent Prince Diego of Madris.

It had all been practically unmanageable at first, if only because everything came as a shock to her system. Even then, as she looked down at the reams of documents sitting on the Council table in front of her, it felt overwhelming.

 _At least Leif is here,_ she reassured herself a little, glancing at the man sitting by her side, his dark brow creasing and uncreasing as he listened intently to the proposals offered by Prince Ivar during his long speech. With him at her side, she thought they projected a bit more confident of an image than she would have by her lonesome.

 _We can't look_ vulnerable  _in front of them,_ she thought, her lips pursed as her eyes ran over the familiar faces seated around the table—Ivar and Anders, Magnus, King Oskar and Queen Therese—as well as the less familiar ones (though she recognised, absently, the same Sir Anton to whom she'd been so strangely introduced by Leif sitting by the Queen's side, actively scribbling down notes).

As much as she didn't like Therese's insistence on  _strength,_ it was fitting enough for the occasion.

"From what I understand," Leif began in his deep bass hardly a moment after Ivar had finished his speech, "the Southern Isles are in want of our ice, lumber, and fur?"

Elsa hid a smirk as Ivar's moustache twitched in irritation.  _Blunt as always, Leif._

"Yes, well," Anders cut in before his portlier twin could comment, "they've been in shorter supply since our ties to your kingdom were . . .  _unfortunately_ diminished by the incident involving the traitor."

She felt a slight sprig of worry grow when she saw the traces of a scowl cross Leif's features at the reminder of Hans's actions; luckily, the older man was quick to cover it with a neutral expression.

"I'm sure we could come to agreeable terms on those products," Elsa offered with a small smile.

Leif nodded after a moment, eyeing the documents. "Yes—in return for several of yours," he added, and his finger tapped against a line on the top page of his stack. "The lords and ladies in Arendelle are particularly fond of your . . . how do you call it?  _Akvita?"_

Magnus bristled at the question from the head of the long table, seated at his father's right side. "That  _poison_ isn't fit to be consumed by  _anyone_ , Your Majesty—let alone a  _queen."_

Elsa and Leif blinked in surprise at the sudden comment—the Crown Prince had been silent for most of the proceedings, until then—but the Queen was quick to wave it away, a slight edge of exasperation lacing her tone.

"Please excuse Prince Magnus, Queen Elsa," she said, ignoring the dark look her son shot her. "He abstains from drink, you see."

The eldest prince scowled. "If I had my way, that  _vile_ liquid would be banned entirely," he muttered bitterly.

Ivar snorted lightly after exchanging a knowing look with Anders. "If that were the case, then the prisoners on Vollan would have nothing to do, Your Highness."

The diplomat's comments drew some laughter from around the table, though, Elsa noted, none from Anders, nor the King. Her brows knitted as she wondered if she knew that name from somewhere— _Vollan—_ as her fingers drummed against her knees beneath the table, and she—

_Furthermore, as requested by Her Majesty Queen Elsa, the traitor remains in exile on Vollan Island far to the South, where he endures hard labour daily—_

Her breath caught in her throat.

 _That's where Hans_   _was sent._

As the laughter died down and she realised the connection, a strange  _thrumming_ of guilt pulsed through her at the idea of importing alcohol made by prisoners. It didn't matter, really, that Hans was one of them; rather, she thought of the stories she'd been told by Kai of the Queen's "enemies" at court, and how they sometimes "disappeared."

 _Who knows if the other men forced to make that drink are_ really  _guilty or not?_

The recollection of his impertinence, however, and his  _unrepentance,_ enabled her to dismiss her misgivings. "We'd still very much like to include the akvita as one of the items under discussion," she said, and added more gently: "Even if I, myself, won't partake."

Magnus barely hid a look of contempt at the remark as Oskar clapped his hands together weakly, standing from his seat. "Very good, Your Majesty," he nodded at Elsa, "let's discuss the specifics at a later time, hmm? For now, I think it would be best to pause here for lunch."

"A splendid idea, dear," Therese praised, helping her husband to his feet. Her eyes set on Elsa not a moment later. "Would you join me for a tour of the gardens, Queen Elsa?"

Elsa, following their leads, rose from her seat as well. Against her inclination to retire to her room, she tiredly agreed. "That would be lovely, Your Majesty."

Therese smiled. "Excellent. I'll have tea and lunch brought out to us there."

"And would Sir Leif do me the honour of dining with me?" Sir Anton asked Elsa's adviser suddenly, and the older man nodded immediately.

"Of course—it would be my pleasure," he replied.

Oskar was gripping Therese's arm more tightly than Elsa realised as he spoke again. "Good. As for the rest of you, we'll continue in about two hours' time."

The remaining councillors—including the princes—thus rose and quickly dispersed from the room, leaving Elsa alone with the King, Queen, and their guardsmen.

"Elsa," Oskar said suddenly, and she nearly jolted in surprised, unused to hearing him address her so informally, "regarding tonight's dinner, would you allow the traitor to . . .?"

Her tongue was heavy in her mouth, and she struggled to wrap her mind around the question.

_Dinner . . . tonight?_

**"No,"** she took herself aback, her expression crumpling with a frown. "Not tonight, I don't think."

 _Not after_ last  _night._

The King and Queen regarded her in slightly stunned silence; it was the first time, after all, that she'd refused his attendance.

Therese cleared her throat after a beat, plastering on a serious look. "You're right, Elsa," she said, nodding. "We've already been allowing the traitor  _far_ too many privileges already, and considering his poor comportment so far, well," she continued, her lip curling, "I doubt we'll miss him at dinner."

Elsa's nose wrinkled at the comment.

 _That felt forced,_ she thought,  _even for_ **her**.

She allowed the frown to melt away, standing straighter. "Therese, shall we . . . ?" she gestured to the doors, and the Southern Queen glanced in that direction, patting her husband's arm.

"Yes, of course," she said, guiding Oskar to Fredrik. Once the three were together, she murmured something to the king, and then to her second-oldest son; she exchanged a strange look with the latter afterwards, and watched as the Captain guided away the clearly-hobbling king, the elderly man's shoulders fairly shaking with a wheezing cough.

"Is he—is he all right?" Elsa asked, concerned.

Therese sighed as she led the young queen down a different hallway towards the gardens. "He'll be fine, once he takes some rest," she assured Elsa, though her words were hardly convincing. "These long Council meetings are just very draining on him, as you might imagine."

Elsa's hands knitted together in front of her, her tone genuinely sympathetic. "They would be on anyone."

"He's not the spry young king he once was," Therese said as they reached the doors to the gardens, pausing on the threshold with a weary smile. "Though he'll never admit it."

Elsa matched the smile with her own, more cautious one, though her question was teasing. "And are you just as . . . 'spry' now as you once were, Therese?"

The Queen's lips slipped into a set line. "Elsa, my dear—when you've given birth to as many sons as I have, seen as much as I have,  _lived_ as long as I have," she replied, "it's not about being 'spry.'"

She gestured for the guards to open the doors, and outside, Elsa's eyes trained on the wide expanse of beautifully-manicured hedges and bushes of rose and azalea—an entirely different view from the one she'd seen a few nights before, sauntering by the same Queen's side.

Therese regarded the landscape with a steely look. "It's about being  _shrewd."_

Elsa drew her gaze away from the gardens, curious at the word choice. "Shrewd?"

"Yes," Therese murmured as they descended the short steps to the path through the gardens, her light green dress swaying around her legs. "By the time you reach my age, you'll understand it better, but . . . keeping your wits sharp is the most important thing you can do as a queen."

She paused by a bush of pink roses. "And as a  **woman**."

Elsa stared at the flowers, feeling a touch of longing in her breast at the sight of them; for a moment, she let Therese's cold pragmatism slide from her mind.

_Anna would love these._

The Queen glanced at her coyly. "But I don't need to tell you that, do I, Elsa?"

The younger woman blinked, tearing her eyes from the flowers. "What do you mean?"

Therese continued walking, gesturing for Elsa to follow. "I was referring to your earlier decision regarding the traitor," she explained. "A wise one, no doubt."

Elsa tried to look as unaffected by the reminder as possible. "I thought so," she said simply.

The Queen paused, her brow rising. "He didn't . . .  _offend_ you too terribly during the fete, I hope?" she inquired, side-stepping an overgrown branch of an apple tree. "I had the feeling he might've said something inappropriate, which is why I sent him back early."

Elsa swallowed, averting her gaze. "No, nothing like that," she lied, though there was a hitch in her voice as she spoke. "I simply . . . didn't think that his presence would be  _appropriate_ at dinner, I suppose."

Therese nodded as they came to a more open area—a circular space with a large alabaster fountain in the centre, dark green hedges and rose bushes surrounding them—and gestured for Elsa to sit on a bench nearby.

"I shouldn't have suggested it in the first place," she agreed succinctly as they sat together. "He doesn't deserve the  _honour_  of your company, after all."

The slight edge to that word did not go unnoticed by the Snow Queen, though she wasn't sure how to respond to it—nor how to interpret it, since it sounded neither overwhelmingly condescending nor flattering—but she chose to ignore it for the sake of politeness.

"It wasn't about that, really," Elsa replied, shifting uncomfortably. "It was more . . ." she paused, and sighed. "I just need to get used to seeing him again, that's all," she said finally, "and having him attend events as  _well_ as dinners is perhaps too much for me, right now."

 _And so is having him show up in my room unannounced,_ she thought, her forehead crinkling.

The Queen looked sympathetic. "No, of course, you're right, Elsa—these things take time," she reassured her. "And especially after everything that happened, well," she continued more cautiously, "I certainly can't blame you for feeling this way. Nor could anyone, really."

Elsa's hands curled in her lap. "It's been a . . .  _difficult_ past few months, yes."

Therese knew better than to press the conversation further after that stiff reply; instead, she plucked a small, pink flower from a bush nearby, showing it to Elsa. "I'm sure you have these in Arendelle, no?" she asked gently, catching the younger woman off-guard.

Elsa nodded lightly. "Yes, though wildflowers are more common."

"I can have some cut and brought to your room," Therese continued, "since—well, that doesn't matter."

Elsa blinked, glanced down at her gloved hands, and blushed.

_She remembered._

That fact alone made her want to tell the Queen, then, about everything that had happened—about Hans, his comments, his lies,his stupid  _smirk_ —but somehow, Therese's own words stopped her short.

 _You have to be_ shrewd,  _Elsa._

As much as she wanted to confide in that woman, with her confidence and poise and seemingly sage advice, she didn't have any reason to do so that wasn't entirely superficial.

_And she's nothing like Mama._

From the way she carried herself, calm and cool, to the mischievous glint in her emerald eyes, to the strange ease with which she could shift in expression, there was something indescribably . . .  _inauthentic_ about the woman, compared to her own mother.

_And yet, I—I want to trust her._

Her lips pursed as she thought on what to say, her hands hanging resignedly at her sides. "I would like that," she said at last, forcing herself to smile. "Thank you, Therese."

The Queen smiled in return. "Anything for you, Elsa."

She was reminded, suddenly, of the desperately sad look her mother had worn whenever she would shrink from her touch, or tell her to leave for fear that she wouldn't be able to keep the ice from spreading—and her heart raced painfully, not understanding why it had all suddenly come to the surface, after so many years suppressed.

"Elsa? Are you—"

Elsa found, to her horror, that frost was spiralling out from under her feet, reaching the roots of a nearby rose bush, tinging the flowers on it an icy blue; she exhaled deeply, taking a step back, and the ice retreated with her. "I'm sorry," she said quietly, her hands finding each other with desperate speed. "I don't know what's gotten into me."

Therese leaned over, as if to touch her—but, at the last moment, she refrained. "It's all right," she said, her voice warmer than Elsa could ever remember hearing it. "It's all right, Elsa."

She noticed, then, how much the Queen used her name—Elsa,  _Elsa,_ **Elsa** —and though it might have bothered her at first, she found it reassuring then, even  _comforting._

_Because she's treating you as if you were her dau—_

She stopped the thought cold in its tracks, and collected herself.

_That doesn't matter._

"You've been very kind to me, Therese," she said softly. "Thank you."

_. . . does it?_

The Queen's eyes were patient,  _understanding._ "You deserve kindness, after all you've been through," she returned. "It's the least I can do."

Had she been with Anna then, or Gerda, or even Kai, Elsa might've let go of the pain that constricted around her heart then, and cried. Things being as they were, though, she merely let out a shuddering breath, and tried to carry on as if the thought of her mother  _didn't_ make her feel ill with guilt.

(As if it didn't make her feel anything at all.)

* * *

He wouldn't admit it, but Hans was . . .  _slightly_ annoyed that he hadn't been invited to dinner.

It made sense, of course, that Elsa wouldn't want to see him after the night before. Thinking back on it, he really couldn't blame her for being upset with him.

 _At least, I_ think  _she's upset with me._

That seemed a safe assumption when he remembered the  _disappointment_ in her eyes, the wariness in her furrowed brow, and the thinness of her pressed lips.

 _I'm not a_ monster.

She'd looked so vulnerable when she'd uttered those words, her face soft and pale, the snow caught still around her—and yet, he recalled better than anything else the dull  _thump_ of his heart in his chest at the sight of her.

It made his throat feel oddly tight as he awaited her arrival, again, in his old room, and it sucked dry whatever desire he might've held to tinker further with her books and other belongings.

 _Not that there's any time for that,_ he reminded himself, looking over his outfit for the evening. He wore a dark blue suit that had been given to him earlier in the day, intended for the dinner. It resembled, he noted absently, the one he wore when he'd first run into Anna a year ago . . . minus his treasured epaulettes.

(It had felt strange to him at first, going without them; but, as with everything else, exile had quickly stripped Hans of feeling anything but what was most necessary to survive.)

The formal guise was well-suited to the task he had in mind, and he smoothed out his gloves, jacket lapels, and hair out of habit, briefly examining his appearance in the mirror nearby.

 _I have to look_ perfect  _for this._

He'd actually planned out his little "visit" to her well this time, he thought—taken what he would say into consideration, calculated,  _schemed_ like he used to—and when he heard footsteps moving down the hall towards the door, he quickly concealed himself again.

He had to calm himself, after all, lest he give away the game.

Unlike the night before, however, her servants  _did_ enter the room—but they lingered only for a few minutes, fussing with her hair and tiara and shoes before the Snow Queen requested her solitude.

His brow lifted curiously.

_Perhaps she's not expecting me._

That was possible, considering the bite of their last encounter, and her order for him not to return until he had "something" to say. When she sighed and slumped forward against her desk, that belief was reaffirmed.

Thus he stepped out from his place in the shadows, his hands folded politely behind his back, and—

"I thought I told you not to come back until you had an  _answer_  to my question."

He paused mid-step, blinking in surprise; once again, he had underestimated her.

He let his expression become a little softer than usual as she stood and faced him, daggers in her stare. "But I do have one, Your Majesty."

Her brow creased in bemusement. "You  _do?"_

He took two more steps towards her, and paused there. "Yes, I—I couldn't give you one before, because I—well, to be honest," he looked down, "I was surprised."

Her lips pursed. "Surprised," she repeated disbelievingly.

He kept his eyes trained to the floor. "Like I said before, I thought—I thought that you would want me to kneel before you publicly, and apologise in front of everyone. I wasn't expecting you to ask that question . . ." he trailed off, glancing around the room, and finally met her stare again, "here."

She regarded him in silence, compelling him to continue in his plaintive manner. "But I've known for a long time now, Queen Elsa, how I feel about the things I've done, and what I've wanted—no,  _needed_ to say to you."

He dropped down to one knee before her, his head bowed; secretly, he wished he could see the look of shock on her features. "I  _am_ sorry, Your Majesty—I'm sorry for the lies, for hurting you and Anna, for trying to take your throne, for being foolish enough to ever think you weren't fit for it—for  _everything_."

_That should do it._

His words hung in the air, in the dead quiet—and her silence was  _suffocating._

**"Get up, Hans."**

He felt heavy, suddenly . . . too heavy to move a finger, let alone to stand.

Still, he forced himself to look up, to look at  _her,_ and her blue eyes, he thought, resembled two hard, cold blue diamonds.

He swallowed. "But, Your Majesty, I—"

"Did you  _really_ think it would be that easy?" she hissed at him, scowling. "That you could just stroll in here through that 'secret passage,' kneel before me, give a nice speech, and then . . . what? I would believe your apology?  _Forgive_ you?" Her gaze narrowed at him. "Or did you think that I might kindly  _ask_  your mother and father to remove you from exile?"

The young queen's voice in that moment, he realised, sounded just like his  _mother's—_ and he nearly shuddered, his mask slipping.

"Elsa, I—"

"Oh—you're calling me just  _Elsa_ now, as well?" she cut him off, and he grimaced as snow began to swirl around them, the sight becoming too familiar. She crossed her arms tightly. "You told me yourself that you're not to be trusted—or have you already forgotten that,  _Hans?"_

The wind was too strong, and his thoughts too muddled by surprise, to form an adequate reply.

 _You should have been satisfied with what you had,_ Hans.

Her teeth snapped together. "Just stop this game, already; there's nothing for you to gain from it."

_You've brought this on yourself._

Finally, he rose from the ground—stiffly,  _formally_ —and he kept his eyes fixed on her, even as she turned away from him to look out the window.

He kept his distance, but the façade was gone. "If you don't trust me," he began cautiously, watching as the hairs on the back of her neck rose at the sound of his voice, "then why didn't you have the passageway boarded up?"

Her arms dropped to her sides, and the snow dissipated.

". . . I don't know," Elsa answered at length. "Maybe I—maybe I was hoping that you wouldn't do something like  _this,"_ she admitted, an edge to her tone, "and that you would only return when you had something  _meaningful_ to say."

The line of her back, visible even from beneath her blue dress, beguiled him—but he held fast to his position behind her.

"And even if I came to you on the day of my scheduled return to exile, kneeling before you, weeping,  _begging_ for forgiveness . . . would you have believed it then?" he asked, his brow rising in curiosity.

She sighed. "Probably not."

He breathed lightly through his nose. "Well, then—better to have tried it at least once, knowing that it would never have worked."

"That's not true," she said suddenly.

He blinked. "What?"

She turned around, glaring at him sharply. "I wouldn't believe you if you grovelled, and  _wept,_ because that's not you—that's not the man who lies with a smile, who seduces with a knife behind his back, who comforts a desperate woman with the promise of death," she sneered, and he fought the urge to shrink from her. "No—that man would  **never** beg."

He held back a grimace, though he couldn't stop his muscles from going rigid.

". . . and am I still 'that man,' Elsa?" he ventured, his hands curled tightly around one another behind his back.

Her gaze relaxed, but her eyes held onto their wariness—and onto their  _disappointment._

"I don't know, Hans," she said, "but . . . for your own sake, I hope not."


End file.
